Russian Doll
by Teobi
Summary: a.k.a 'Mary Ann vs. Mary Ann'. A ruthless new spy arrives on the island, determined to succeed where Agent 222 failed.
1. A New Man For The Job

**A/N:** JWood201 and I were on the sitcomsonline message board and we came up with the idea of an Evil Mary Ann, because only Gilligan, Mr. Howell and Ginger had 'Evil Twin' episodes.

I'm shamelessly obsessed with Spy Gilligan, so he will be in this story too. It won't focus on him, it will be a full complement of castaways and I won't leave anyone out. There _will_ be MAG shipping- a _double_ dose this time, for which I make absolutely no apologies. A nod also to the other Spy Gilligan stories on the board.

Re: the spies' nationality. It was never stated in 'Gilligan v Gilligan' that the spy was specifically Russian. He just said "In my country." I've made him and his colleagues Russian, by which I mean I used Russian websites and **GULP** _Google Translator_ for appropriate words and phrases. If anyone from Russia is reading this and I've made glaring errors, please do PM me and put me straight! Google Translator can be awkward/hilarious when it gets things wrong.

**Disclaimer:** Absolutely no offense is meant to Russia, America, France or any other country mentioned. Sherwood Schwartz poked gentle fun at capitalism and socialism and greed and complacency, and the overall message of the show was of course that we should all learn to get along together in peace and harmony, no matter what.

All characters property of S. Schwartz- story written for fun, not profit. I'm planning on shortish chapters and frequent updates and I love reviews, especially if you add me to your Alerts or Favorites. Thank you, and on with the story!

* * *

><p><strong>Russian Doll<strong>

"_Vy idiot!_"

The Commandant was not happy. In fact, he was furious. He paced around the small, austere office, stopping every so often to glare at the smaller man in the red shirt and white sailor hat who stood nervously in front of the desk looking down at the threadbare carpet.

"I knew it was a mistake to send you. You are useless!"

Agent 222 raised his eyes sullenly. "You did not think so in France. In France, I did good."

"Who cares about France!" The Commandant looked like he was about to explode. "A baby can make them talk in France!"

Agent 222 pouted and returned his gaze to the floor.

"No, this is not France we are talking about." The Commandant stopped at the window and peered out through the murky glass into the street below. "These are Americans. High intelligence! Capitalists! They do not give up their secrets so easily!"

"But Commandant, I tell you they have no secrets!" The young spy threw his hands in the air, frustration twisting his features. "They are not dangerous!"

The big man scowled. "You did not carry out Phase Four. You disobeyed orders!"

222 muttered under his breath, earning him another look of rage.

"You are failure. As American would say, 'you don't know your arias from your oboe'."

"I am good spy!" 222 protested. "I was willing to go through surgery for this mission!"

The Commandant ran his eyes up and down the skinny man's slight frame and pursed his lips. "Boroda ne delaet filosofom," he shrugged.

_A beard does not make a philosopher._

222 looked down at his scruffy sneakers. "You promised me I would get my old face back."

"You do not deserve to get your old face back. Surgery costs money, and in case you do not notice, we have no money until we get results!"

"In that case, return me to the island," the young agent pleaded. "I will do better. I will make them talk. I will carry out Phase Four. I will not fail this time."

The Commandant held up his hand and stopped 222 in his tracks. "No. We will not send you. We have new man for the job."

222's head jerked up. He swallowed past his bobbing Adam's apple- _Gilligan's_ Adam's apple. "You have someone else?" he squeaked.

"Da. You will see." The Commandant pressed a buzzer on the desk and spoke to his secretary. "Olga, please send in Agent 223."

"Da, Commandant."

The door to the office slowly opened and Agent 222 swivelled his head to watch his successor come through. His eyes widened when, instead of the big, burly man he was expecting, a small female figure entered the room- a small, perky female figure with thick brown hair and smooth tan skin, wearing a red gingham dress and pigtails.

Agent 222's mouth fell open. "Mary Ann!" he gasped, astonished.

"Correction," the Commandant leered. "Former Agent 222, meet Agent 223."

"Former Agent?" The young man's face fell.

"You are a disgrace to our glorious nation," the petite woman answered, fixing 222 with a cold stare.

"Agent 223 will succeed where you have failed. She will infiltrate the American rebels and find out what they are doing, once and for all!" The Commandant threw his head back and laughed triumphantly, bellowing like a bull.

"You said there was no money for surgery!" 222 whined.

"I said there was no money for _your_ surgery," the Commandant replied. "Look at her- she is a masterpiece, nyet?"

"She is perfect," 222 admitted, for the woman was indeed an exact replica of the Kansas farm girl, Mary Ann Summers. The one castaway on the island that the young spy had felt sorry for. Sure, Gilligan had been harmless enough, but he was a man, and men were expendable. Besides, 222 wasn't going to easily forgive Gilligan for having the kind of face that no-one took seriously. But Mary Ann Summers was just a young girl. Just a sweet, harmless, bright eyed young girl, who made coconut crème pies and listened to stories of doctors on the radio and was always happy and cheerful.

"What are you looking at?" 223 suddenly growled. 222 stepped back in shock.

"Excuse me?"

"You are pathetic." 223 studied 222's rugby shirt and loose fitting denims and her eyes flashed with disgust and loathing.

"YA nikogda ne videl karie glaza vyglyadyat tak kholodno," muttered 222._ I have never seen brown eyes look so cold. _His heart skipped a beat, and he realised with dismay that Cupid's arrow had struck and he had fallen completely in love.

"Agent 223 is our finest operator," said the Commandant, proudly. "Watch her. Maybe you will learn something."

"Him? He could not learn how to catch the dung from a cow's behind," 223 sneered.

Agent 222's mouth drew down at the corners and he felt himself shrink away to nothing as the Commandant and the new object of his heart's desire laughed and joked at his expense. "When do you leave?" he uttered softly.

"Tonight." Her voice dripped ice. "I will be on their island by sunrise."

"And this time," said the Commandant, rubbing his meaty hands together, "there will be no mistakes."


	2. Something Wicked This Way Comes

Dawn broke in the Pacific. The morning sky paled from indigo to blue, and the pink clouds nestling along the horizon opened up to let the golden sun rise from its bed. Sea birds wheeled and screeched at the dark shape gliding silently beneath the waves. The ocean bubbled and hissed as the great submarine rose up and broke through the surface, water cascading down its sides.

Agent 223 stood with her knapsack slung over her shoulder, waiting for the hatch to open and her inflatable dinghy to be launched. With her were the Commandant, his large frame squeezed into the small space between the bulkheads, and Agent 222, who had insisted on joining them because he had been to the island and his invaluable advice might be needed.

"You have everything?" the Commandant asked.

"Da," 223 replied, coolly. "I am ready."

"Remember, Phase Four must be carried out this time."

"Do not worry," the girl smiled. "_Everything_ will be taken care of."

"If you need any help..." 222 began, but was cut off by a sharp snort of laughter.

"From you? I think not."

"He is only trying to save his own skin," the Commandant rumbled. "He knows he will soon be heading for the barren wastelands of Siberia."

The hatch opened and revealed a circle of sky. Agent 223 began to climb the narrow metal ladder. 222 and the Commandant admired her shapely legs as she rose higher and higher until she glanced down and caught them at it. They looked away, blushing furiously. She watched them squirming for a few seconds and then she snickered, a dry sound that caused them great embarrassment. "Fools," she muttered, and then she was gone, and the hatch closed firmly behind her.

222 let out a low whistle. "She is, as the Americans say, 'something else'. Da, Commandant?"

"Shut up, _vy idiot_," the Commandant replied, tugging at his collar. This was a fine time to start sweating like a schoolboy.

* * *

><p>Mary Ann Summers was in one of her happy moods. She bustled around the breakfast table while the other castaways were still yawning- in the Howells' case, still sleeping soundly. One by one, Gilligan and the Skipper, the Professor and finally Ginger emerged from their huts and dragged themselves to the table, rubbing their tired eyes.<p>

"Good morning, sleepyheads!" Mary Ann laughed.

"Morning, Mary Ann," they droned in unison.

"I have a breakfast for you that will soon wake you up. Pancakes and freshly squeezed grapefruit juice."

A murmur of approval rippled around the table as they anticipated the delicious food they would soon be eating.

"You sure know how to look after us, Mary Ann," said the Skipper, tucking his napkin into his collar. "Without you here, I think we'd have shrivelled up and died a long time ago!"

Gilligan nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we'd just be skeletons. All skin and bone without the skin!"

"Little Buddy, you're like that already," the Skipper chortled, and everyone laughed, but not unkindly.

Mary Ann brought breakfast to the table and soon the castaways were eating warm pancakes with berries and syrup and drinking zesty grapefruit juice that made their eyes water. Halfway through the meal the Howells arrived, and soon the group was alive with chatter as everyone made their plans for the day. Mary Ann enjoyed the sounds of laughter and conversation and was pleased that everyone ate second helpings and drank the pitcher dry. She was very fond of her fellow castaways, and she loved taking care of them as though they were members of her own family.

After breakfast, Mary Ann headed down to the area where they did their laundry. The Professor had said there was a chance of some showers later on, and she wanted to make sure everything was clean and dry before she brought it in. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't even notice the shadowy figure that lurked in the bushes nearby, watching her intently.

Agent 223 opened her small makeup case and pressed a button disguised as a square of green eyeshadow. "I have located the one I am to imitate," she said quietly. "There is just one thing."

"What is it?" The Commandant sounded slightly muffled through the cake of pink blusher that served as a speaker.

"She is too happy," 223 replied sardonically. "I do not know if I can do it."

The Commandant chuckled. "If the job was easy, then this idiot would have succeeded."

223's eyes followed Mary Ann as she passed within feet of the agent's hiding place. "She is but a child," she whispered. "And this job will be child's play."

"Good luck," said the Commandant, but 223 had already closed the makeup case and risen to her feet.

Mary Ann moved along the clothes line, checking that everything was dry. Ginger's dress hung next to the Skipper's pants which hung next to Mary Ann's yellow turtleneck which hung next to Gilligan's t-shirt which hung next to the Professor's socks. Mary Ann unpegged each item and folded it neatly and placed it into her basket. The sun was warm, and soon she fell into a familiar rhythm of check, unpeg, fold, check, unpeg, fold, operating on autopilot, humming softly to herself.

"That is a beautiful gown," a female voice said from somewhere behind her.

"Yes, isn't it?" Mary Ann replied, then froze instantly. She had been miles away and unaware of anyone else arriving. Even then, it was a moment or two before it struck her that something was not quite right. The voice wasn't Ginger's, and it wasn't Mrs. Howell's. No, there was something eerily familiar, yet unfamiliar, about the quiet voice that she'd just heard. "Who's that?" she asked. She was afraid to look.

"It depends," came the voice. "Who do you want it to be?"

Mary Ann took a deep breath and whirled around. When she saw who was standing behind her she gasped out loud and her head started to spin.

It was like looking in a mirror. The same brunette pigtails, the same oval face and neat little features, the same big brown eyes framed by thick dark lashes. Even the same gingham dress. "Who?" she croaked, hoarsely. "What-?"

The stranger who looked just like her smiled, but not with her eyes. "Mary Ann Summers from Winfield, Kansas," she purred, looking Mary Ann up and down. "I've heard all about you."

"From where?" Mary Ann squeaked, her throat constricting with puzzlement and fear.

"From Russia," the woman said. "With love."

Mary Ann blinked. She pressed up against a tree and began to sidle around it. "Excuse me," she stammered. "It was real nice talking to you, whoever you are. But I really, _really_ have to go now." She made a sudden run for it, darting to her left towards the trees but in moments the stranger was upon her and she crashed to the ground, struggling in the stranger's fierce clutches. "Let me go," she cried. "Let...me..._go_!"

"I think not," the stranger hissed. "Your people and my people have a score to settle."

A handkerchief soaked in some awful smelling chemical was placed firmly over Mary Ann's nose and mouth. Despite her best efforts to stay in control, Mary Ann felt her flailing limbs grow heavy- and then everything went black.


	3. Shaken And Stirred

Mary Ann awoke in a rocky cave hidden behind a curtain of thick, tangled vines. Her mouth was gagged, her wrists and ankles were tightly bound and she was propped up in a sitting position against a large boulder in the corner. Her head throbbed and there was a chemical taste in the back of her throat. She blinked and looked around the gloomy cavern. Seated not far away on another rock was the woman who had brought her here.

Her exact double.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," the woman smiled. "You are feisty, I'll give you that."

Mary Ann tried to shout, but it came out as just a muted mumble. Her helplessness made her scared and angry. Hot tears prickled behind her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks.

"You poor thing. You have no idea what is happening, do you?" 223 got up and walked over to Mary Ann. She leaned down and peered into Mary Ann's face. "The one who was here before could not get your friends to talk, but _I _will. I will find out once and for all, who you are and what you are doing here. And I will return to my country in triumph!"

Mary Ann struggled futilely against her bonds. "'The one who was here before'? What are you talking about?" she tried to say. "We're castaways. We were shipwrecked here three years ago and we just want to go home!" But nothing came out except, "mmm mmmm mmmmm mmm mmmm mmm."

The agent waved her hand dismissively. "I cannot understand a word you are saying so there is no point wasting your breath. Besides, you are going to be here for a while, so it would be wise to conserve your energy." She stood up and smoothed down her dress then smiled prettily, just like the real Mary Ann. "Don't worry, little girl. Your friends will not suspect a thing. Mary Ann Summers from Winfield, Kansas will cook for them and clean for them and feed them and be nice to them. But she has a few tricks up her sleeve- and soon they will tell her everything they know." 223 watched Mary Ann struggling for a few more moments, feigning boredom at the farm girl's muted cries for help. Then she gave a mirthless, self-satisfied laugh and departed the cave without looking back, leaving Mary Ann by herself in the gloom.

* * *

><p>223 checked again that her knapsack and dinghy were safely stashed in the undergrowth, then she gave word to the Commandant that her mission had begun.<p>

"Good luck," the Commandant rumbled.

"Da, _udacha_," said 222.

"Shut up, imbecile," she muttered. "I do not need luck from you."

223 returned to the huts with the laundry basket and placed it on the outdoor table. The other castaways started gathering round to collect their clean clothes. While they sorted out whose was what, 223 deftly removed the makeup case from inside the front of her dress and pressed the green eyeshadow to activate the receiver.

"Thanks, Mary Ann!" said Gilligan, delving into the basket. "Boy, my T-shirt sure smells great!" He pressed his face into the garment and inhaled deeply.

223 eyed the gangly young man and winced inwardly. Just the sight of him irritated her- he looked so much like 222. "You're welcome," she said, curtly. Gilligan stared at her for a second, then shrugged and went back to smelling his T-shirt.

"My socks!" the Professor beamed. "Thank goodness. I'm lost without them- my spare pair just isn't the same."

223's ears pricked up. "These socks serve a special purpose?" She angled her makeup case towards him. Perhaps this job was going to be easier than she'd thought!

"Of course, Mary Ann! Everyone knows clean socks help you think better," the Professor deadpanned.

"About what?" 223 prompted, hoping the Commandant could hear them.

"Oh, about all kinds of things!" the Professor declared. "Mathematics, physics, chemistry..."

223 leaned closer. In the submarine, the Commandant and 222 crowded around the radio with 222 breathing heavily on the Commandant's neck until the Commandant was forced to elbow him out of the way.

"...but above all, comfortable feet!"

Everyone laughed except 223, who plastered a smile to her face and pretended she'd known all along that the Professor was joking. She patted his arm with as much faked affection as she could muster. "Oh, Professor, you _are _funny!"

The Professor raised his eyebrows. "That's something I don't get called very often. I'm usually accused of being too serious. Or too intelligent."

223 smiled brightly. "Is there such a thing as too intelligent?"

"Don't ask me!" chirped Gilligan.

"I wasn't asking you, Gilligan." 223 gave him the cold shoulder.

"Well," said the Professor, "if I ever become too intelligent, I'll be sure to let you know."

Everyone laughed again, except Gilligan, who looked very unhappy at being snubbed for a second time. One by one the castaways took their clothes and began to drift away. When 223 left the table and went across the clearing towards the Supply Hut, the first mate put down his pile of clothes and followed her.

Inside the Supply Hut, 223's makeup case whined loudly, causing her to wince. She opened it up, pressed the green eyeshadow and listened to the Commandant's bark of laughter.

"That was good start, 223. You think socks are lethal weapons?"

"That was practise run," she replied, attempting some humour of her own. "Besides, I am using cosmetics as communication device. That is not so different, da?"

"I had shiny gold pocketknife," said 222. "It was good knife, too. Over two hundred uses."

"A shame it did not make you smarter," 223 drawled.

"Enough! You have forty eight hours, 223. Do not waste them all," the Commandant said, tersely.

"Do not worry, Commandant. I will make them talk. I am not like 222."

The Commandant chuckled. "You are most certainly not like 222, that is for sure," he said, lewdly.

223 ignored the comment. "In forty eight hours, my work will be done. You have my word, Commandant."

"Remember, If you need any help..." 222 tried again.

"Shut up!" 223 barked, cutting him off in mid flow.

"But I didn't say anything!" The voice behind her sounded stunned and slightly perplexed.

223's heart almost stopped. She spun around, simultaneously snapping the makeup case shut and shoving it down the front of her dress, re-assuming the persona of Mary Ann Summers. "Gilligan!" she gasped. "You startled me! How long have you been standing there?"

Gilligan shrugged. "I just got here. Who were you talking to?"

"No-one," she said, shrugging back.

"No-one? But I heard voices." Gilligan peered around her. "Is someone behind you. Mary Ann?"

"No, no-one's behind me. I was just, um...having a conversation with myself. Don't you ever do that?"

Gilligan thought about it. "Well- maybe. Sometimes- when nobody else is around."

"There, you see? Everyone does it."

"Does everyone put on different voices, too?"

Mary Ann cleared her throat and patted her chest. "Sore throat," she explained.

"Sore throat?"

"Temporary. It's gone now."

Gilligan wasn't giving up so easily though. "Why did you tell yourself to shut up? And what was that thing you hid in your dress?"

"Do you mind? A gentleman doesn't ask a lady what she's hiding in her dress."

Gilligan grinned triumphantly. "So you _did _hide something in your dress!"

"I didn't hide anything in my dress! Oh, Gilligan," 223 huffed, putting her hands on her hips. "Stop being so gosh-darned infuriating!"

Gilligan blinked. "Infuriating?" He almost stumbled on the word, such was his utter dismay. "Mary Ann, I thought we were friends!"

223 felt the onset of a sudden tension headache. The skinny, dark-haired young man in front of her looked so much like 222, whom she despised with all her heart, that it was hard not to despise him too. But it was most unprofessional to allow herself to think that way. Mary Ann was Gilligan's friend, so she was just going to have to try harder to accommodate his stupidity. Not to mention his insatiable curiosity, which was bound to become a problem sooner or later.

"We are friends, Gilligan," she sighed, trying a different tack. "It's just that, well, I've had a tough morning."

"Tough morning? But you were fine at breakfast." Gilligan stared at her anxiously. "In fact, you were real happy at breakfast. Remember how happy you were at breakfast, Mary Ann?"

223 thought quickly. "Yes, of course I remember! And I'm happy now, Gilligan. It's just that, with making the breakfast and doing the laundry and the sun being so hot, I developed a sudden headache."

"A headache _and_ a sore throat? Are you okay, Mary Ann? You're not getting sick, are you?" Gilligan took a step towards her, his eyes full of worry and concern.

"No, Gilligan. I'm fine, really." 223 felt the walls of the Supply Hut closing in on her. _This was not a good start. _She needed fresh air before Gilligan got any nearer. "I appreciate your concern. Thank you." She pushed past him, bumping his shoulder in her hurry to get to the door. Gilligan stood aside and watched her go, scratching his head in puzzlement.


	4. Short Shorts

223 headed to the girls' hut for time out to collect her thoughts. When she got there she found the Hollywood actress, Ginger Grant, sitting at the vanity and admiring herself in the mirror.

"Which do you think is my best side, Mary Ann?" The glamorous redhead barely looked up from her own reflection.

223 had not the slightest interest in Ginger's dilemma. She went over to Mary Ann's cot and began perusing the pile of clothes to see what else the girl wore besides cute little gingham dresses. Her eyes popped open when she spotted the teeniest, tiniest pair of denim shorts she'd ever seen in her life.

"Mary Ann, I asked you a question, honey." Ginger tucked a fiery curl behind her ear and examined the results. "Which do you think is my best side?"

223 picked up the shorts and said the first thing that came into her head that sounded sweet and thoughtful. "Ginger, you're beautiful from every side."

Ginger turned away from the mirror and stared at her. "That's not the right answer and you know it," she pouted.

"It isn't?" 223 was surprised. It had seemed like a good answer to her.

"No. You know full well that my left side is my best side!"

223 thought quickly. "Well, gosh, Ginger- I always give you the same answer, so I thought I'd say something different this time. And anyway, it's true- you are beautiful from every side." She fixed the movie star with a beaming smile before turning back to the cot and the pile of clothes.

Ginger pursed her lips for a second, then a sly smile spread across her face. "All right, Mary Ann. What do you want?"

223 was puzzled. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't be coy. You're buttering me up. Come on, tell me. Do you want to borrow some jewelry?" Ginger leaned over and dropped her voice to a teasing whisper. "Are you going on a date?"

223 stared at Ginger. She had not been aware that Mary Ann went on dates. But who with? The Professor seemed a likely candidate. He was handsome, and quite charming for an American, but his air of detachment suggested he would rather go on a date with a good book than a girl. The Skipper was a lusty sailor if ever there was one, but he was quite a bit older than Mary Ann and was more likely to see her as a surrogate daughter or little sister- someone he needed to protect. The capitalist, Thurston Howell III, was older still- and besides, he was married. 223 didn't think that Mary Ann was the type to have an affair with a married man, even a rich one. Which just left Gilligan. The skinny _durak _who reminded her of her inept counterpart, 222. Let it not be so! _Ona ne mozhet bytʹ tak! _It was bad enough that she had to be his friend, let alone a romantic partner. She hoped with all her heart that she was wrong.

"No," she said, firmly. "I'm not going on a date. I was just paying you a compliment."

Ginger smiled like a cat anticipating fresh cream. "Have it your way, Mary Ann. But don't think I don't know."

223 fumbled in her dress for her makeup case, opened it behind her back and activated the green eyeshadow. "Don't think you don't know about what?" she asked, angling the receiver towards Ginger.

"You and Gilligan." Ginger lowered her voice to barely above a whisper.

223's jaw dropped. So it was sadly true. Mary Ann had an interest in Gilligan. Now she knew why he'd been so upset. 223 cursed inwardly. She had already made her first mistake- being cold to someone she was meant to have a thing for.

Ginger gave a soft, throaty laugh. "You and Gilligan have been dancing around each other since the day we arrived. Tell me, Mary Ann. Are you really just butterfly hunting when you go with him into the jungle?"

From behind her back, 222 spluttered and coughed. 223 quickly clamped her hand over the transmitter. "Sorry," she said, clearing her throat for the second time. "Sore throat. It comes and goes."

Ginger winked. "Well, if Gilligan starts coughing, I'll know where he got it."

"Ginger!" 223 exclaimed, loudly. The thought of going on a date with Gilligan, the exact replica of 222, was bad enough, never mind engaging in the sort of activity that might involve the exchange of saliva. But was Ginger implying something else? Maybe 'going on a date' was code for some kind of secret mission. There had been nothing in the files she had studied or the film she had watched, which was the same film that 222 had watched. She was sure she had studied carefully. She was confused by this new information, not to mention worried. She knew it was her duty to find out- her superiors expected nothing less.

She stared down at the teeny tiny pair of shorts in her hand. She wondered about Gilligan, and how far she was meant to take their friendship. An image rose unbidden in her mind- an image of 222 with his lips smushed against hers, his arms encircling her, trapping her. She tried desperately to ignore it, but it only made things worse. A searing wave of heat rose up her neck and made her cheeks go pink.

Ginger's laughter was silky and affectionate. "Mary Ann, are you blushing?"

"I wish you hadn't started talking about dates and Gilligan," 223 admitted.

"Oh, Mary Ann, I was only teasing! I know you like him, we all know you like him. But I'm sure you go butterfly hunting and nothing else. Besides, I don't think Gilligan would know what to do even if he wanted to." Ginger rose from the table and headed towards the door, smooth and elegant in her shimmering gown despite the lack of occasion. "And now that I've completely embarrassed you, I'll leave you alone and go see what the Professor is doing. I believe he's working on a new project, although I have no idea what it is. It's all very hush hush!" She tapped the side of her nose, and then she was gone in a shimmer of gold and red.

223 needed to get rid of the nauseating image of 222 kissing her and Ginger's words were what did it. A new project? Hush hush? Things were getting interesting. Possible secrets that Mary Ann and Gilligan were hiding from the others and a hush hush project that the Professor was working on. Whether she liked it or not, these were the kind of things she needed to know about. The Commandant would surely promote her for her efforts after this mission was complete!

223 held up the teeny, tiny skimpy pair of shorts and smiled wickedly to herself. Cute gingham dresses were all very well, but these were the clothes that got the job done. Humming her favourite song, _Gosudarstvenny Gimn SSSR, _223 searched the pile of clothes for the skimpiest little vest top she could find, and proceeded to change into a new, killer outfit.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _Gosudarstvenny Gim__n SSSR. _The National Anthem of The Soviet Union. Agent 223 will of course be humming the version by her favourite group, The Red Army Choir.


	5. They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

**A/N: **I began the morning feeling like a superbad computer techie. Oh, I thought, I'll upgrade this and download that, get some whistles-and-bells on my speedy new browser, and ended the morning crying and having to do a full System Restore. Luckily, (or unluckily, depending on your viewpoint) I didn't lose any of my presh documents. And now that I've finally stopped shaking, on with the story! (Pours drink, downs in one)

* * *

><p>223 gazed in awe at her reflection in the mirror. Gone was the cute look of the girl-next-door. In the tiny denim shorts and skimpy pink top, 223 now resembled the girl down the street that led the boys astray. Did Mary Ann really dress like this? In the film she had studied- the same film that 222 had studied, the farm girl had been wearing jeans and had appeared quite modest.<p>

Appearances really were deceptive!

She posed and turned and admired herself from every possible angle. There was an old saying- _boltún- nakhódka dlya shpióna_. A chatterbox is a treasure for a spy. These shorts, used properly, would make a man confess to anything.

While she studied her curves, _Mary Ann's _curves, she spoke to her makeup case, which was propped against the mirror. "222, _vy dura_. Why did you not say that Mary Ann had interest in Gilligan? This makes things very awkward for me."

"I did not know!" insisted 222.

"You did not hear the actress?" 223 put on a ditzy airhead voice. "'_You and Gilligan have been dancing around each other since the day we arrived_'. And you say you had no idea?"

"Mary Ann did not show special interest in me when I was there!"

"I do not blame her." 223 put her hands on her hips and checked out her rear view, raising her eyebrows at the amount of skin on display. "All the plastic surgery in the world cannot make silk purse out of sow's ear."

"Is because this dumbkov was too busy chasing wrong target," grumbled the Commandant. "'Area where I am expert'? N_e dumayu_. I do not think so! Because of this, he missed real opportunity for information."

"Mary Ann made me uncomfortable. I do not know why." 222 was becoming defensive.

"Perhaps because she suspected you were not Gilligan," said 223. "You did not behave with her the way you should."

"The way you are not behaving with Gilligan the way you should?" the Commandant interjected.

"The only one who knew I was not Gilligan," said 222, sulkily, "was Gilligan."

223 ignored the Commandant and snorted at 222. "The stupidest one was the only one who was not fooled? What a fine kettle of fish you have put me into. "

"I will tell you like I told the Commandant. They are not normal people. You will not find anything that you are looking for."

"You are lying. You did not even complete mission. Is because you do not want me to succeed."

"That is not true. I want you to succeed. But you must be careful. They are unpredictable. I do not want you to get..." 222 cleared his throat. "No matter. You have job to do, you must do it."

223 gave a contemptuous laugh. "You know why you failed, 222? Because you are sentimental fool."

222 fell silent.

223 ran a hand down her smooth, tanned thigh and whistled softly. "I cannot believe such a sweet, innocent girl would wear this clothing. I tell you, I dare not bend over- you will see everything!"

The silence was broken by a noise that sounded like a chicken being strangled. 222 found his voice again.

"Tell me you are not wearing the shorts."

"You know of the shorts?"

222 gulped. "I know of them. They are shorts to make a grown man cry."

"Then it is good job you are not grown man," 223 chuckled. "If you saw me now, you would bawl like little baby."

* * *

><p>223 sauntered across the clearing. Halfway between the girls' hut and the communal table, the shorts began to pinch her in places she really didn't want to be pinched. She reached behind and gave the left leg (although you could hardly call it a leg, there was so little material) a quick tug downwards. This resulted in the other leg rising up and pinching her just below the buttock. Her face twitched. She tried a different way of walking. The pinching got worse. She didn't know what would happen if she was required to sit down. She decided to walk around for a while until the shorts became more comfortable. At the same time it would be a good way to make a reconnoitre of the campsite and see what she could discover.<p>

As she passed by the Howells' hut, she heard the capitalists talking. She hurried over with her communicator. She activated the green eyeshadow and held it up to the window.

"So I told the Captain, 'Captain, I simply cannot work on an empty stomach. Or even a full stomach, for that matter'!" Mr. Howell guffawed loudly. 223 scowled. So much for Marxist ideology.

"Of course not, darling," came the voice of his High Society wife, indulging her husband in his laziness. "Now, do tell me, Thurston. Which set of pearls goes better with this outfit, the black pearls or the pink ones? I just can't decide what to wear for my mid-morning siesta."

"Why don't you wear them both? Don't be modest, Lovey. You lend a much needed an air of elegance to the surroundings."

Outside the hut, 223 fidgeted and glanced down at the acres of flesh she was showing.

"Well, yes," Mrs. Howell agreed. "This place could certainly do with a touch of class, and that is what I'm best at."

"And I am best at keeping an eye on the proletariat!" Mr. Howell hooted.

"Thurston! That's not a very nice thing to call Gilligan."

"There are no nice things to call Gilligan. The next time that boy injures my polo pony, he'll feel the full force of the Howell wrath!"

223 moved away from the hut and darted across the clearing, anxious not to be caught snooping. "You hear that, Commandant? They have horses here." she hissed. "Perhaps they use them for transportation through the jungle!" She was so engrossed in imparting this new piece of information that she didn't notice the bamboo construction standing right in front of her. She ran headlong into it and broke it into several pieces.

The noise brought the Howells dashing out of their hut. "My polo pony!" Thurston Howell cried. "What have you done to my polo pony?"

223 staggered dazedly to her feet. "_This_ is your polo pony?" She stared at the broken jumble of bamboo sticks and noticed a saddle sitting in the middle of it.

"Of course it's my polo pony!" Mr. Howell stamped his foot like a child. "Everyone knows it's my polo pony! Everyone!"

Mrs. Howell ignored her husband's tantrum. "Mary Ann, my dear- are you all right?" She put her arms around 223's shoulders. "You poor girl. I've told Thurston time and again to move that thing out of the way. Admittedly, I always assumed it would be Gilligan who broke it, but nevertheless! You really must come inside and sit down. You look quite shocked."

223 had no time to argue. Mrs. Howell ushered her into the hut and insisted she sit down and get her breath back. Meanwhile, Mr. Howell was on his knees outside, sobbing theatrically.

"Now, Mary Ann, tell me. Are you hurt anywhere?" Mrs. Howell put her hand gently on 223's forehead.

"No, Mrs. Howell, I'm not hurt. I'm fine. I wasn't looking where I was going, that's all."

"My dear, that's unusual in itself. I'd expect such clumsiness from Gilligan, but not you. You're the most conscientious person I know. Perhaps we ought to take your temperature. You could be coming down with...well, with _something_. I wouldn't know. Howells rarely get ill. Those nasty germs wouldn't dare!"

"I'm fine, Mrs. Howell, really."

"Well, all right, dear. I suppose you know yourself best. But any more incidents like this and I'm taking you straight to the Professor for a check up. We really don't need two Gilligans on the island- one is quite enough, thank you!"

_Yesli b vy znali, Mrs. Howell,_ thought 223. _If only you knew it. There was a time when you did have two Gilligans on the island._

In spite of herself, 223 found that Mrs. Howell was much nicer than she would have expected a capitalist to be. She was elegant and well dressed- which wasn't a surprise, given the amount of money that she had, but 223 had the impression that even without her millions, she would still have been a charming and dignified lady.

There was just one problem. Mrs. Howell was not divulging any information at all. 223 wanted to know why millionaires went on a simple charter tour with the proletariats instead of hiring their own luxury yacht, but Mrs. Howell continued to berate her tearful husband for leaving his possessions lying around in places where the hoi polloi might find them.

223 gave up, resolving to try again later. She sat and watched Mrs. Howell move around the hut and thought of her mother, a simple, hard working woman who took great pride in her small, sparsely decorated apartment and who did not seem all that fundamentally different from the rich socialite who stood in front of her now, even though she was poor.

What a shame that in 48 hours these two wealthy capitalists would be gone- obliterated along with everyone else on this forsaken island!

"Oh, pooh," said Mrs. Howell, bending to pick something up from the floor. "If I find one more dusty pile of thousand dollar bills under my bed, I shall scream!" She tossed the money over her shoulder and didn't even look to see where it landed.

223 gasped in horror at the wanton treatment of so much valuable currency, _American_ currency at that! Then she began to laugh, and she laughed and laughed until a single tear ran down her cheek. She may not have been getting any answers, but she was certainly being entertained!


	6. Hello, Sailor

223 was in a strangely upbeat mood when she left the Howells' hut. Mrs. Howell had impressed her with her dignity, her impeccable manners and the calm way she tolerated her husband's tantrum. _Da_, the Howells were obscenely rich and Mr. Howell was the head of a dozen international corporations that made them richer by the second. But in the company of Mrs. Howell, 223 found that she had relaxed, if only for a moment or so, almost forgetting they were enemies.

Not only that, the shorts had finally stopped pinching her.

It wasn't long before the buzz of her communicator brought her back to earth with a bump. She fished the makeup case out of her top and pressed the green eyeshadow. "Da, Commandant?"

"You are making progress, 223. You have moved from socks to rocking horses. What is next, hula hoops?"

"It is process of elimination. I found nothing suspicious in hut of capitalist."

"And what were you doing in hut of capitalist? Having a jolly tea party?"

223 rolled her eyes. "Commandant. With respect, I have already completed Phase One- I have been accepted by the group. Captain and Professor seem to be natural leaders, and I am sure I will discover something soon."

"You are intending to use shorts to your advantage?"

"I am intending to find out how persuasive they can be."

"Very well, 223. But use your discretion- do not make same mistakes as this _idiota_. My superiors are not happy. If you do not produce results, Siberia will be the least of your worries. That goes for 222 also. We will not be shamed by the people of this silly little island."

"I understand, Commandant. Do not worry- I will find out what they are doing here if it is last thing I do."

"Do not let it be last thing you do. A pretty face is hard to find around here- I would hate to see you go."

223 frowned at the implied warning. She closed the makeup case with a loud snap. 222 might be going down, but she was not going to go down with him- she was destined for greater things.

It was time, as they say, to pull out the stops.

* * *

><p>The Skipper whistled sea shanties as he chopped firewood in a nearby clearing. It was a manly task, and one that he enjoyed. Gilligan was fond of making fat jokes about his large frame, but he knew that he was still a strong and robust man and that no-one could chop firewood better than he could.<p>

"We're homeward bound! 'Tis a grand old sound, on a good ship taut and free, and we don't give a damn when we drink our rum with the girls on old Maui!" His voice boomed around the clearing as he split and stacked the wood, stopping occasionally to wipe the sweat from his eyes.

"My, you have a fine singing voice, Skipper."

The Skipper blinked and looked up to find 223 perched on a nearby rock. She was leaning back on both hands with her legs crossed at the thigh and her right foot hooked behind her left calf. The sun cast a golden sheen on her smooth, tan skin and the Skipper felt suddenly lightheaded.

"Thank you, Mary Ann," he said, trying not to look at her legs. "If I'd known you were there, I'd have tried to stay a little more in tune!"

"You're too modest, Skipper. I can just imagine you far out to sea, singing your lines while the crew men bellow their response."

"I have a hard time imagining Gilligan bellowing anything," the Skipper chuckled. "But thank you for the compliment!"

223 smiled flirtatiously. Behind her on the rock, the makeup case lay open so that the Commandant could hear them. "Imagine. Helming a tall ship in full sail. Heaving to around Cape Horn in a howling gale, like a real Leader of Men."

The Skipper's mouth went dry. "Well, Mary Ann, had I been in the Navy a hundred years ago, I suppose that might have been a likely scenario."

"You're a fine Commanding Officer, Skipper- even when you're not at sea. It's a big burden of responsibility, taking care of people, preventing mutiny, making sure there's law and order."

The Skipper put down his hatchet and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "Mary Ann, are you all right?"

223's eyes widened innocently. "Of course! Is something wrong?"

"Well, no! I mean...it's just..." the Skipper was having a hard time ignoring the toned legs stretched out in front of him. "You don't usually talk the way you're talking right now. Or..." he coughed, "sit the way you're sitting."

"I know," 223 replied. "I hurt my leg earlier. Sadly, this is the only position that's comfortable."

Skipper was immediately concerned. "You hurt your leg? How?"

"I fell over the Howells' polo pony."

"_You_ fell over, Mary Ann? How did you manage that?" Skipper's mouth opened in surprise.

"It was in the way. I'm afraid I broke it into pieces."

"Oh, good, we need more firewood," the Skipper chuckled. "But your leg, Mary Ann. How badly is it hurt?"

"Not too badly, although I think I may have pulled something." 223 unhooked her right leg and stretched it out in front of her, flexing and unflexing her muscles. "I might have to ask someone to rub it for me. That is, if I can find anyone willing."

The Skipper's eyes bulged and he began to stammer. "Oh, I think you'll..that is, I'm sure you..."

"How about you, Skipper?" 223 rotated her foot slowly and pointed her toes at him. "You have nice, strong fingers."

The Skipper shook his head, forcefully. "As much as I'd love to be able to help you, Mary Ann, I really don't think I can. You'd be much better asking Ginger."

"Why Ginger?"

"Because she's a girl. And I'm not, in case you didn't notice!"

223 laughed musically. "Don't be shy, Skipper. Pretend we're on a ship and I'm one of your crewmen. I've taken some shrapnel. You wouldn't hesitate to remove it, would you? My leg might turn gangrenous, and then we'd have to amputate."

The Skipper laughed at that. "You've been around Gilligan too long. That's almost as fantastic as one of his stories!"

223 smiled. "I'm really not asking for much, Skipper. You'd do it for anyone else, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you do it for Gilligan, if he was hurt?"

The Skipper sighed. "I probably would do it for Gilligan, or anyone else if I had to. But I'm no medical man, so don't expect miracles!"

223 let out a delighted squeal. "Oh, thank you, Skipper! Thank you! While you're at it, why don't you entertain me with some stories?"

The Skipper knelt down and took hold of the lower half of 223's leg as if it were made of the finest, most delicate bone china. "What kind of stories, Mary Ann? Stories about the Navy?"

223 watched the Skipper with calculated amusement as he fumbled his way awkwardly around her lower leg. Her instincts about his relationship with Mary Ann had been right- there would never be anything romantic between these two in a million years. "Oh, let's see," she mused. "I know! Tell me about the others. I'm always so busy cooking and cleaning that sometimes I think I miss out. For instance, I heard the Professor's working on a new project and I'd love to know about it."

The Skipper looked puzzled, but not surprised. "Gee, I don't know, Mary Ann. Why don't you ask him?"

"Ginger said it was hush hush."

"Oh," the Skipper chuckled. "One of _those_ projects. It's probably nothing. A new way to chop coconuts, or a faster way to grow ferns. Sometimes that guy gets as excited as a kid with his first chemistry set!"

223 was not amused. Coconuts? _Ferns?_ What had they to do with secret missions? Were they codenames? Or were they just coconuts and ferns?

"Try asking Gilligan," the Skipper continued. "He always seems to know everything."

223 processed her thoughts in silence. The skinny First Mate was turning into quite the enigma. One theory the Commandant had put forward was that Gilligan only played at being dumb. 222 on the other hand, insisted he was as clueless as they came. With so much conflicting information about the boy, she knew she would have to find out more about him. And soon.

"How does your leg feel now, Mary Ann?" Skipper asked, peering into 223's face. He looked like he wanted to get back to chopping wood before anyone saw what he was doing.

Before 223 had time to respond, Gilligan himself appeared at the edge of the clearing, carrying a load of fresh wood and whistling tunelessly. He stopped dead when he saw the scene in front of him. The Skipper let go of Mary Ann's leg and stood up hurriedly, like a boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"What's going on?" Gilligan's tone was both demanding and accusatory.

"Little Buddy!" the Skipper stuttered. "This isn't what it looks like!"

"It looks like you were rubbing Mary Ann's leg!"

"All right, it is what it looks like. But she asked me to!"

Gilligan looked at 223, who returned his stare with a benign gaze. "What the Skipper says is true, Gilligan. I asked him to massage my leg. I had a small accident, and I think I pulled a muscle."

"Really, Mary Ann?" Gilligan looked unconvinced. "If you pulled a muscle it would really hurt, and you don't look like you're in pain to me."

The Skipper blushed. 223 just smiled sweetly.

Gilligan stared hard at them both, then he threw down the wood and stormed off up the path, whacking palm fronds and banana leaves with his fists.

The Skipper sighed. "I knew this was a bad idea, Mary Ann. Now he's sulking, there's no telling what he'll do. I better go talk to him or he'll be gone for the whole day."

223 seized her chance. She got up off the rock and slipped the makeup communicator into the waistband of her shorts. "No, Skipper. It's my fault- I shouldn't have done what I did. Let _me_ go and talk to him. Alone."


	7. Ssh! No Talking!

223 was surprised at how fast Gilligan moved. In just a few minutes he had become a small red blur through the trees- if she didn't hurry she'd lose him altogether. "Gilligan! Gilligan, please stop!"

"So much for persuasiveness of shorts," came a sarcastic sneer from the communicator.

"Be quiet," she muttered under her breath.

"I can hear you," the Commandant sing-songed.

223 called Gilligan's name again and finally he stopped, with his back still turned toward her.

"Thank you," she said, gratefully, when she caught up with him. "For a moment I thought you were just going to ignore me."

"Like you've been ignoring me?"

His bluntness threw her off balance. "What do you mean?"

"All morning you've been ignoring me, Mary Ann. You were normal at breakfast, and now you've just gone weird."

"I am sorry about this morning, Gilligan. I told you I had a headache. It's gone now."

Gilligan cast his eyes down at her legs. "And your 'pulled muscle'? Has that gone, too?"

_Chert voz'mi! _She had already forgotten her bad leg. She pictured the Commandant shaking his big, fat head. "Yes," she said, smiling brightly. "My leg's not so sore now."

Gilligan shuffled from foot to foot, kicking leaves, staring at the ground. "I guess the Skipper made you feel better, huh," he muttered.

"No, Gilligan. The Skipper had nothing to do with it."

"Then what were the two of you doing?" Gilligan flexed and unflexed his fingers. He was waiting for an answer, some kind of explanation that would set his mind at ease. This was clearly an unfamiliar situation for him and he didn't seem to know how to handle it.

223 wracked her brain- she couldn't tell him she was trying to interrogate the Skipper. She thought of something, quickly. "I may as well confess," she said. "I _wanted _you to be jealous." She looked at the ground, then lifted her gaze slowly through lowered eyelashes.

Gilligan's jaw dropped and his eyebrows disappeared into his hair. "Jealous? Who's jealous? I don't get jealous!"

"Then what was that display back there? Throwing down the wood and running away? If looks could kill, I'd be a stone dead corpse by now."

"You tell me, Mary Ann! You're the one who was getting your leg rubbed by the Skipper!"

"Admit it, Gilligan. You were jealous."

He opened his mouth to say something, then pouted and went silent.

223 breathed deeply and continued. "All right Gilligan, let's calm down and be honest. How long have we been friends? One year? Two years? Longer?"

Gilligan held up three fingers. His raised hand looked like a warning sign.

"Three whole years. And what exactly is there between us? We're not married. At least, I don't see a ring on either of our fingers. And yet you don't like to see me with other men! Don't you see how ridiculous that is?" She noticed that he visibly flinched at the mention of marriage.

He gave a non-committal shrug.

223 sighed loudly. She wasn't here to play nursemaid to a man who still read comic books to get himself to sleep. She had a job to do, and less than two days to do it, and she had no idea how she'd become embroiled in a battle of wits with someone who didn't have any. "I can't read minds, Gilligan. Sometimes I think other people know more about us than we do." She hoped that would force some information out of him.

Gilligan squirmed uncomfortably, and then he began babbling like a shaken up soda bottle with the top removed. "I'm sorry, Mary Ann! But if you wanted a leg rub, you should have asked me, not Skipper! Me,_ Gilligan_!" He began fluttering his hands against his chest. "I've done it before, remember? I rubbed your leg for you that time you got caught in my bateater trap!"

223 blinked. What in Lenin's name was a bateater trap? She put her hand gently on his arm to steady the flapping. "All right, Gilligan, calm down. I promise with all my heart, the next time I want a leg rub, I'll ask you." She wondered what the Commandant was making of the conversation now. It was probably making his ears bleed. As for 222- she didn't even want to know what he was thinking.

Gilligan brightened instantly. He calmed down and his hands returned to his sides. "Okay, Mary Ann. It's a deal."

"Good." 223 leaned against a tree and put her arm across her forehead. She was mentally exhausted, and she still hadn't uncovered a thing. Nothing about the Professor's activities. Nothing about the Skipper's role as Leader. Nothing about anything except bateater traps. After a couple of moments, she steeled herself for a fresh onslaught of confusion. "Gilligan. Let's talk about some of the other things we do together as friends."

Gilligan's Adam's apple bobbed up and down like a ping pong ball. "Why?"

_Bozhe moi! _His bluntness really was disconcerting. 223 fished for a reason that wouldn't make him suspicious. "Because I like the sound of your voice," she said at last.

"You do?" His voice promptly rose several octaves and cracked.

She winced. "Yes, I do. Now- tell me about butterflies."

"Oh! Butterflies! Mary Ann, that's my favourite thing of all that we do together." Gilligan lit up like a June bug and gave her a wide, genuine smile. It was a nice smile- it was just a pity he had to share it with 222. "We always find the best butterflies, don't we, Mary Ann? Cabbage Whites, Hawaiian Blues, Painted Ladies, sometimes if we're really lucky, the famous Pussycat Swallowtail!"

Now this was more like it! Was the 'Pussycat Swallowtail' a reference to some hidden Commander-In-Chief? Gilligan had said the name so reverently that maybe it meant the President of The United States himself!

"There's even one called a Banana Skipper." He giggled and put his hand over his mouth.

The Vice President of The Unites States, or perhaps even the Head of the FBI! 223 could almost taste her promotion. She smiled indulgently at the boy who was still giggling behind his hand. She decided that if Gilligan's simple persona was just an act, then it was a bravura performance worthy of the highest award, if only awards weren't such grotesque symbols of bourgeoisie self-congratulation. She moved closer to him. "And what else do we do? Besides look for butterflies?"

Immediately, he became worried. "Mary Ann, you know what else we do! We go swimming, and bowling, and turtle racing, and fishing, and exploring..."

_Turtle racing_? Who in their right mind raced turtles, the slowest creatures in the world?

"...and the thing I'm about to do now. Running!"

Gilligan was quick, but this time 223 was ready. She put her arms out and caught him before he escaped, pressing him gently up against the tree. "Where are you going?" she asked, batting her eyelashes. "What on earth did I say this time?" She fought down a sudden urge to brush the hair out of his eyes, although in 222's case, she would have sooner put her hands around his throat.

"Nothing. I remembered I had something to do."

Her hands clutched his shirt. "You were jealous when you saw me with the Skipper and now you want to run away again? Gilligan, don't go hot and cold on me, not when you accuse me of ignoring you. Talk to me, I'm your friend! Tell me everything! You must face your feelings- they are the key to this whole puzzle. Once you understand your feelings, the rest will come easy to you. And then we'll talk. Or you can talk, and then I'll talk, and then we'll both talk!"

Gilligan couldn't move any further back without melding his atoms and molecules into the tree itself. His whole body went rigid. He surprised her by holding her gaze steadily for several seconds, searching her eyes, blue diffusing into brown. Then he looked down and stared at his feet, becoming his shy, awkward self again. "You sure picked a fine time to remember we were friends," he mumbled.

223 sighed again. This was going nowhere, if indeed, it had ever been going anywhere. Her head really was hurting now- a band of tension throbbed behind her ears. She stepped away from Gilligan and dropped her hands to her sides. "Don't be scared of me, Gilligan. I only want to help you. That's what friends are for, isn't it?"

"I know, Mary Ann, but..." his words trailed off and he shrugged, unable to finish.

223 reached up and tugged the brim of his hat. He was unbelievably infuriating, but at the same time he was strangely vulnerable, like a fledgling bird. His eyes flickered, he looked unsure of himself. On a positive note this also meant he was beginning to look less and less like 222, and for that she was profoundly thankful. "Come on, Gilligan. I'm very tired now. Let's go back to camp, you can help me fix lunch."

Gilligan cheered up immediately at the mention of lunch. "Sure, Mary Ann, I'll help out anyway I can. I'll even try not to eat it all before it gets to the table."

She marvelled at his simplicity, and made note of it. "I'm very happy to hear that," she smiled.

"And I'm happy you're happy," he grinned.

They started off down the path towards the huts, walking together in amiable silence and listening to the birds. "All that talk about butterflies makes me want to go butterfly hunting," 223 said at length. "Why don't we do that soon, Gilligan? We can take a picnic with us."

"Sure, Mary Ann, but why the rush? We don't normally go until Thursday."

"Let's make an exception this time," said 223, linking her arm through his. "I have a sudden urge to see the Pussycat Swallowtail."


	8. Out To Lunch

223 was patient with Gilligan as they bustled around the Supply Hut. He had a habit of getting too close and bumping into her, but he was fine when he stood still and concentrated. He showed an unexpected talent for adding little complementary details- a sprig of thyme here, a sprinkling of lemon zest there. She pictured him in a small galley, valiantly putting a meal together while the boat rocked and swayed over the waves, his arms flailing every now and again to steady himself. She watched him dress a crab with great care. His hat was pushed to the back of his head and his hair hung over his eyes and he wore a studious little frown while he worked, which amused her greatly. He was beginning, as they say, to grow on her.

She went back to fixing the salad. It was unfortunate that he looked so much like 222, but really it was more fair to say that 222 looked like him. Gilligan was the original template, and it wasn't right to keep comparing him to her_ idiotski _colleague. 222 would never smile the way Gilligan did, with the whole of his face, his blue eyes full of life. 222 was bitter and resentful- he cursed his ill-fortune and was made restless by his mother's disapproval. He was nothing but a fool and a _proval,_ a failure. It was a pity, because Gilligan's smile was quite extraordinary.

When lunch was ready, they took it to the table. Gilligan held the seafood platter aloft in a grand manner as though he were a waiter in a fine French restaurant. Everyone gasped and the Skipper put his hands on his head, waiting for the accident to happen. 223 couldn't help but smile at the smug look on the first mate's face when he placed the platter in front of the Skipper without dropping a single shrimp.

The Howells and the Professor sat on one side of the table, with the Skipper at the head. On the Skipper's left sat Gilligan, then Ginger, then 223 on the end. As the castaways talked and ate, 223 held the makeup case/communicator under the table and was thankful that it didn't have a camera, otherwise the Commandant and 222 would be getting a very good view of her and Ginger's legs.

The Professor sat opposite her. She wanted to know about this project he was working on, whether it involved coconuts and ferns or not. How much of his work did he share with the others? She wondered if they were really working for the common cause, or whether they had split themselves into factions and were hiding things even from each other.

Agent 222 had returned to Moscow in a state of high anxiety and his post-op report was a garbled mess that had almost seen him institutionalised. He became a figure of fun in the spy community, and the subject of much discussion in the bars around the Kremlin. After just half a day on the island, 223 was beginning to see why he had come close to losing his marbles. Gilligan, who had been so annoyingly close-mouthed in the jungle, was now talking rapid fire about someone called Claude who was a friend of one of his cousins, although he seemed to have dozens of cousins, uncles, aunts and other dubious family affiliates whom he may or may not have been related to. Mr. Howell was arguing loudly with the Skipper about whose turn it was to pump the water (it was never Mr. Howell's turn, ever). Ginger was talking to herself quite happily about nothing in particular (in a sort of actor's monologue, 223 supposed), and Mrs. Howell nibbled daintily at her salad, rising effortlessly above it all.

223 wasn't about to risk more stinging criticism from the Commandant for her lack of progress. She angled the makeup case under the table and leaned forward. "Professor," she began in a light, conversational tone, "I hear you're working on a new project."

Despite the noise, the other castaways overheard 223's question and turned to the Professor with mild curiosity. The Professor looked up from his meal, which he had been eating quite happily without involving himself in the rumpus. "I wouldn't call it a project, Mary Ann," he smiled. "It's nothing of spectacular importance."

"Is it gonna get us rescued?" asked Gilligan, eagerly.

"No, Gilligan, I'm afraid not," the Professor said, with a shake of his head.

"Is there a reason why it's hush hush?" 223 went on.

"Who said it was hush hush?" the Professor raised his eyebrows.

"Ginger did," said 223, looking sidelong at the movie star.

"At least it wasn't me who blabbed this time," said Gilligan, cheerfully.

"I'm sorry if I've made a big thing out of it, Professor. I was just curious." 223 was growing impatient- she just wanted someone, _anyone_ to spill a few beans so that the Commandant could witness her superior interrogation skills at work.

The Professor smiled. "It's all right, Mary Ann. I'm just pursuing one of my hobbies, that's all. Something to pass the time."

"That's what I said," the Skipper chortled. "Like your famous coconut guillotine."

"I'll have you know my famous coconut guillotine was a marvel of invention," the Professor said, mock-sternly.

"It's just a shame it had to look like something out of the French Revolution!" declared Mr. Howell, chuckling heartily at his own remark.

223 turned to Ginger. "Why did you tell me it was 'hush hush', Ginger? You even tapped the side of your nose."

Ginger shrugged. "That's how they do it in the movies," she said, as though it were blindingly obvious.

"And then there was the lie-detector machine, not to mention the famous measuring stick that made us think the island was sinking," the Skipper went on, still chortling.

"Oh, yes," 223 said with a forced laugh, "the lie detector machine! Whatever happened to that?"

"You know what happened to that, Mary Ann!" said Gilligan, leaning forward to grin at her. "I busted it! You were there, remember?"

"Of course I remember!" 223 said, panicking slightly. "Gosh, some of the Professor's projects really are funny, aren't they?"

Ginger giggled behind her hand and Mr. Howell almost spat his mango juice out as he roared with laughter.

"Please," said the Professor. "Might we just change the subject and get back to normal?"

There was a brief silence, then Gilligan piped up. "Cousin Rudolph once fit three all-day suckers into his mouth and had to go to the doctor to get them removed."

"Is that better for you, Professor?" the Skipper grinned.

The chatter started up again and 223 fell into a sullen silence. She ate her food with one hand while she held the makeup case under the table with the other, wishing that someone would tell her something that wasn't a riddle or a ridiculous boast or a wild flight of fancy, or even an out and out lie. After a short while, she became aware that the Professor was watching her. She kept her head down and continued to eat, but the prickly feeling in her scalp was making her nervous.

"Mary Ann," he said, forcing her to look up at last. "Can you please pass the kohlrabi?"

"Of course, Professor," she smiled. She reached for the bowl of vegetables and handed it over to him.

"And the salt?"

223 leaned over and retrieved the salt, even though it was closer to Ginger and he could have asked her.

"And lastly the pepper."

223 handed him the pepper.

"Thank you, Mary Ann." The Professor heaped kohlrabi onto his plate and began to sprinkle the condiments over it.

"Will that be all, Professor?" 223 asked, hopefully.

The Professor smiled and nodded. "Yes, thank you Mary Ann. That will be all."

* * *

><p>After lunch, 223 slunk off towards the trees to give her latest report. She hadn't even left the clearing before the Commandant was on her case.<p>

"What you find out for us this time?" he said, drily. "That Professor likes a lot of salt on his kohlrabi? That he likes to play games with sticks and coconuts?"

"I found out that 'secret project' is not so secret after all." 223 felt her blood pressure rising steadily. "But you heard- they had lie detector!"

"And what happened to this lie detector?"

223 rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at the communicator. "Gilligan broke it."

The Commandant was quiet for a moment, and then he got really loud. 223 put her hand over the speaker to muffle his angry blustering. "You think that is good enough information, 223? That science man makes lots of toys to play with? Is no more revealing than 222 and his discovery that capitalists cheat at chess. Phooey!"

"I am working on it," 223 protested. "You heard Gilligan and his crazy talk at table. Cousin Rudolph and his all-day suckers. That is what I am dealing with."

"I have told you that already!" said 222. "Nobody would listen to me. They all said, 'Agent 222? He is crazy, he is 'one _blini_ short of a picnic'. Who is laughing now? Eh?"

"You better not be laughing, 222," the Commandant told him. "Is very serious business. My superiors are getting angry! Agent 223, you may have to deploy Phase Four sooner than later. You have brought poison for pie?"

"Da. But I do not see why I could not have laser beam or Death Ray."

"Because you are woman! Women use poison. Is tradition. Besides, is perfect way to go. They will not suspect a thing. This Mary Ann is always making pie."

"_Sladki mladentsa Iisusa_," 222 murmured, blessing the infant Jesus. "She makes such very good pie." He smacked his lips together. "You will have hard time making pie that good."

"Shut up! It is stealing pie that nearly got you caught. _Vydura._ You are stupid fool. I will not fail as you did. I will make good pie. That is promise." She snapped the makeup case shut on both of them, and decided it was time to pay Mary Ann Summers another visit.

* * *

><p>"Skipper," said the Professor, beckoning the big man over. The Skipper joined the scientist outside the Supply Hut.<p>

"What is it, Professor?"

The Professor looked around to make sure they were alone, then continued. "It's Mary Ann. Have you noticed anything odd about her behaviour?"

"I'll say!" The Skipper said, a little too loudly. He put his hand over his mouth and then lowered his voice right down. "I'll say. She turned up where I was chopping wood, and you would have thought she had hit her head again, the way she was acting. I didn't know where to look!"

"And she should know by now that Ginger's always dramatizing things." The Professor frowned thoughtfully. "Mrs. Howell told me that Mary Ann fell over the polo pony. She thinks she may have suffered a mild shock. The thing is, Mary Ann falling over is quite unusual in itself."

"That's right," Skipper agreed. "And she told me she hurt her leg, but to be perfectly serious, she looked all right to me. In fact, she looked more than all right!"

The Professor stroked his chin. "Did you notice anything at the table?"

The Skipper thought, then shook his head. "No. Apart from making fun of your experiments, she seemed all right at the table." He spoke in hushed tones. "What is it, Professor? What did you see?"

The Professor ignored the comment about his experiments and leaned closer to the Skipper. "The entire time we were eating, she had one hand hidden under the table. Did she mention anything about hurting her hand?"

The Skipper shook his head no.

"So assuming there's nothing wrong with her hand, there must be another reason she was hiding it."

"But Professor, who says she was hiding it? I don't always have both of my hands on the table at the same time. I only need one hand to hold a fork."

"Demonstrate," said the Professor, and from his pocket he produced a fork and held it out to the Skipper.

The Skipper reached out and took it, although his confusion was obvious. "I don't understand."

"You automatically took the fork with your right hand, didn't you?"

"Well, of course! That's the hand I eat with."

"Because you're right-handed?"

"Yes, I'm right-handed. What's that got to do with anything?"

"Plenty," the Professor said. "Mary Ann spent the whole of lunch using just one hand. When I asked her to pass me several items, she used the same hand. Her right hand."

"So?"

"Skipper," the Professor said, gravely. "Mary Ann is _left_-handed."


	9. Mary Ann Sees Her Double

The Skipper's mouth fell open. "What are you saying, Professor?"

"I'm saying that Mary Ann should have been eating with her left hand. But even when I asked her to pass me all those items, she kept that hand concealed." The Professor looked pensive. "There's a possibility she could have suffered a mild sprain, although she seemed perfectly all right preparing lunch."

"Who could have suffered a mild sprain?" Gilligan arrived, and was immediately curious.

"Gilligan," said the Professor, "have you noticed anything odd about Mary Ann's behaviour today?"

Gilligan looked from one to the other. "I sure have! First she liked me, then she ignored me, then she liked me again, then she ignored me again, then she liked me again, then she ignored me again, then she liked me again..."

"Gilligan!" barked the Skipper. "Just answer the question!"

"And then she asked the Skipper to massage her leg."

"Doop!" The Skipper took his hat off and smacked Gilligan on the head.

The Professor raised his eyebrows. "You didn't mention_ that_," he smiled, folding his arms over his chest.

The Skipper blushed, embarrassed. "She said she thought she'd pulled a muscle. She insisted on it, Professor. She said I'd do it for Gilligan if he ever hurt his leg. I didn't know what else to do- I mean, Mary Ann's never asked me to..." he trailed off, aware that he had begun to babble and that Gilligan was staring at him. "I'm sorry, Little Buddy," he shrugged. "But that's exactly what happened. I was chopping wood, minding my own business, and suddenly she was there."

"It's okay, Skipper, you don't have to apologize. I believe you," said Gilligan. "Mary Ann sure has been acting strange today."

"Gentlemen," said the Professor, thoughtfully. "I think we ought to place Mary Ann under casual observation for a while. Nothing too obvious- we don't need to follow her around. We just want to make sure she's all right, and watch for any more unusual behaviour."

"Yeah," Gilligan nodded, his face serious. "We better keep an eye on her, too."

* * *

><p>223 collected a gourd of water and some fruit for her captive. She hurried down a series of winding, overgrown paths to the small cove where she'd hidden her dinghy and knapsack. She withdrew the bottle of chloroform in case she needed it, tucking it into her skimpy pink top. The bottle stuck out like a sore thumb and the moment she moved it dislodged itself and fell to the ground. She hissed in panic, waiting for the smash of glass and the stench of chloroform to knock her out. "<em>Etoplokho<em>," she muttered. "I should not have worn such tight clothing- everything is falling out."

222's voice came out of the makeup case tucked into her shorts. "I would give anything to be there right now." Then he chuckled, and somewhere in the vicinity the Commandant said something rude that she couldn't quite hear.

"_Shovinist svin'i_," said 223.

"Oink, oink," said 222, cheekily.

223 put the bottle back in her knapsack and slung the whole thing over her shoulder. She ran in a series of quick bursts through the trees, stopping whenever she heard a twig crack or a bird twitter, crouching low, always keeping herself hidden. When she got to the cave she stashed the knapsack in a nearby bush and approached the vine covered entrance with the gourd of water and the fruit. She looked around to make sure the coast was clear, then she drew aside a length of vine and went into the gloom.

* * *

><p>"Skipper? What could be wrong with Mary Ann?" Gilligan asked. He was sitting on the table swinging his legs, a pensive frown on his face.<p>

"Until the Professor became concerned, I thought maybe she'd just had a touch of sunstroke," the Skipper admitted.

Gilligan shook his head. "Ginger might get sunstroke, but not Mary Ann. She grew up on a farm- she works in the sun all the time." He pursed his lips, thoughtfully. "I didn't tell the Professor, but this morning, I'm sure I heard her talking to herself."

"Gilligan, we all do that. It's called 'thinking aloud'."

"But, Skipper, she was _arguing._ What's that called?"

The Skipper's face fell. "'Going crazy'," he murmured. "Poor Mary Ann!"

"Not only that," Gilligan continued, leaning forward, "I'm pretty sure she had something in her hand while she was talking to herself. I didn't get to see it- she hid it down the front of her dress as soon as she knew I was there." He tapped his lips with his fingers. "The more I think about it, the more weird it seems." He cocked his head and looked puzzled. "She was wearing her dress this morning, wasn't she Skipper?"

"Yes, she was," Skipper nodded. "But you know Mary Ann changes her outfits even more than Ginger does, so that's not unusual."

Gilligan frowned, studiously. He looked down at his swinging feet. "I sure wish I knew what Mary Ann was doing this morning."

"Well, you heard the Professor, Little Buddy," Skipper said. "'Keep Mary Ann under observation'. If anyone knows how to keep Mary Ann under observation, it's you."

Gilligan jumped down off the table and straightened his hat. "Skipper," he announced, assertively, "I'm going to find out what Mary Ann hid down the front of her dress!"

* * *

><p>Mary Ann was awake. There were signs that she had struggled- the sand was displaced, suggesting that she had rolled on the floor to try and break, or at least weaken her bonds. Her pigtails were loose, she was dirt-streaked and dusty and her gingham dress was filthy and creased. 223 smiled to herself. Angry, feisty prisoners were a nuisance, but she admired them more than the ones who sat in cowed silence, meekly awaiting their fate.<p>

"Good afternoon," she said, pleasantly. "I hope you are enjoying your stay?"

"Mmmm mmmm!" Mary Ann scowled. Her eyes spat fire at the agent.

"Now, that isn't very nice. And here I have brought you food and water."

The look in Mary Ann's eyes changed at the word 'water'. She leaned forward, her eyes searching desperately for the source of the precious liquid.

223 held the gourd aloft and wiggled it. "Here it is. You can have it if you promise not to make a sound when I remove the gag."

Mary Ann glared at her.

"You are thinking about it?" 223 smirked. "I would advise you to do as you are told. You have six friends out there whose lives are counting on your good behaviour."

Mary Ann blinked, startled. "Mmmm!" she mumbled. "Mmmm, mmmm, mmm!"

"Think how you would feel if your actions hurt your friends. Gilligan, for example. You would not like it so much if I hurt Gilligan, da? I have plenty of this chemical for the purposes of silencing. And that is just the beginning."

Mary Ann stared at 223 in disbelief. Then she looked at the gourd of water and slumped back against the boulder. "Mmmm," she muttered with a brief nod of her head.

223 knelt beside Mary Ann and pulled the gag away from her mouth. She brought the uncorked gourd to her lips. She tipped water into Mary Ann's mouth and chuckled as the farm girl gulped thirstily.

"Good girl," she said in a soothing tone. "Is easy for you if you obey. Your friends are all fine. If you co-operate, they will stay that way."

Mary Ann finished the water, every last drop. It revived her anger and brought colour to her cheeks. "Who are you?" she asked. "What do you want with me? Why do you look like me?"

223 laughed. "I am your replacement. I look good, da? Even better than my old face, I think."

"Replacement?" Mary Ann searched the agent's face for clues. "What do you think is happening on this island? I told you, or at least, I _tried_ to. We're simple castaways. We ran aground and made a home for ourselves, and all we've ever wanted is to be rescued. Why don't you rescue us, instead of threatening us? Where are you from?" Mary Ann thought back a year. "Are you from Russia?"

223's eyes widened. "What you know about Russia?" she snapped.

Mary Ann remembered the two Russian cosmonauts who had landed in the lagoon just over a year ago. Comrade Igor and Comrade Ivan. Ginger had talked about Igor for days afterwards, but Mary Ann decided it was best not to mention them right now. "I know we could be friends if we tried," she asserted.

223 sat back on her haunches and fixed Mary Ann with a hard stare. "Phooey! Russia and America are not friends. We have Cold War!"

"Cold War?" said Mary Ann. "That just means we're not talking to each other. Otherwise I don't see why we can't get along perfectly well together."

223 contemplated Mary Ann's words for a few moments. "Such naivete. You Westerners are all the same. You know nothing of struggle, of hardship." She threw the gourd down and leaned forward to replace the gag over Mary Ann's mouth.

"Oh, I think we do," Mary Ann replied, curtly. "And don't try to tell me there are no rich people in Russia. Someone always profits from someone else's misery."

"That is sweeping statement."

"So is yours," Mary Ann replied.

"You think you are so clever, little girl," 223 smiled. "But we will see who laughs last. You are fond of your friend Gilligan, da? Remember what I said." As she replaced the gag over Mary Ann's mouth, she was almost taken aback by the quiet fury of the girl's next words.

"Don't you _dare_ hurt Gilligan."

223 tightened the gag and the rest of Mary Ann's bonds, chuckling while she worked. "Do not worry, I am not done with Gilligan yet. He is sweet on you, da? I know this from the way he looks at me. The way he becomes shy, and also...how is it you say. _Nyeuklyuzhi. _Dropping things. Stumbling over his own feet. It is sweet that he thinks I am you."

A burning flame burst into life and smouldered hotly behind Mary Ann's eyes.

"I see you are jealous too, Mary Ann! It is very clear to me now. You are hoping to be 'more than just good friends' one day. It is such a pity that day will never come. For _you_, anyway." 223 winked, then she laughed and got up. Once again she exited the cave without looking back, leaving Mary Ann alone in the dark. This time, unwanted thoughts tumbled end over end in the bewildered farm girl's mind until finally she curled herself into a ball and cried fresh tears of rage and frustration, longing for her innocent friend Gilligan.


	10. Home Cookin'

223 changed her clothes. The shorts had not worked- the men on this island certainly did not respond to womanly curves the way she had expected them to. She chose instead a pair of snug fitting jeans and selected a sleeveless green top that would conceal her communicator device better than the tiny little thing she had been wearing before.

She tied a scarf around her head and spent the rest of the afternoon being demure and doing chores. While she worked, she had the vague sense that she was being watched. Three times she looked up, but didn't see anyone. Shrugging, she went back to sweeping out the hut, but the nagging, uneasy feeling remained.

Ginger sailed in. She went straight over to the vanity and picked up her hand mirror. "This heat is playing havoc with my skin," she sighed.

"Your skin is perfect," 223 laughed, adopting Mary Ann's fun and friendly demeanour, even though she herself thought Ginger was an extremely vain and shallow creature._ Typical of 222 to chase after her,_ she thought. _There is no accounting for taste._

"If I stay here any longer, my face will look like a leather pouch," Ginger moaned.

"Maybe you won't be here much longer," 223 smiled mysteriously.

Ginger looked round. "If you're implying we might get rescued, I'm starting to give up hope."

"Never give up hope. Surprising things happen when you least expect them." 223 shook her head as the actress continued to examine her skin in minute detail. How anyone could stare at themselves as much as Ginger did was beyond her comprehension.

There was a sudden flash of red and white, and Gilligan appeared at the window. "Hi, girls!" he announced.

"Hi, Gilligan!" chimed Ginger, then stared in puzzlement at 223. "Why didn't you join in, Mary Ann?"

223 looked from Ginger to Gilligan, who stood with his hands on the sill and his head poking through. "What do you mean?"

"Well, we always say 'hi, Gilligan!' together. Don't we, Gilligan?" Ginger appealed to the First Mate.

"Uh-huh," he nodded, gravely. "Always."

"Well, maybe I didn't feel like saying it together this time. Maybe I wanted to greet Gilligan differently. Maybe I was going to wave at him. Like this. Hi Gilligan!" She waved at Gilligan with her fingers, and he repeated the gesture back to her.

"Like this morning, when I asked you about my best side and you gave me a different answer?" Ginger pressed.

"Yes," said 223. "Like that."

"Well, you're here now, Gilligan. You may as well come in," Ginger sighed.

"It's okay, Ginger," Gilligan said, cheerfully. "I just stopped by to tell Mary Ann that Skipper says it's okay if we go butterfly hunting tomorrow instead of Thursday." He looked straight at 223- rather too intently, she thought. "Seeing as you were so keen to go, and all."

Ginger raised her delicate eyebrows in 223's direction.

223 coughed, politely. "Thanks, Gilligan. I look forward to it, and I appreciate you asking the Skipper's permission."

Gilligan tapped his forehead with his index finger in a mock salute. "S'what I'm here for," he grinned, then disappeared.

"Well!" said Ginger. "Our Gilligan is turning into quite the lothario, asking you out like that."

223 blushed, and she couldn't tell whether it was a Mary Ann blush, or one of her own.

* * *

><p>After the day's chores were done, 223 began preparing the castaways' dinner. Ginger was helping, or rather Ginger was swanning around the Supply Hut looking into cupboards and examining fruits and vegetables for spoilage, declaring that this tomato had gone soft, or that carrot was too droopy. 223 chopped and diced and sliced and moved swiftly around the room, thankful for a spartan upbringing that taught her how to cook with the barest of ingredients.<p>

She had spoken to the Commandant earlier, not long after Gilligan had come to the hut. She told him of their impending 'date', only she didn't call it a date, she called it a mission.

"Butterfly hunting." His tone was flat. 223 could picture his big, saggy face creased in a frown, his bushy eyebrows drawn together over his mottled nose, the result of too much vodka. "You think they are there because of flying insects?"

"It is more than that, Commandant. Is quite possibly key to whole reason why they are here. In fact," she lowered her voice, even though she was alone, "I believe a discovery will be made. My instincts are strong on this."

"Very well." The Commandant sighed gustily and 223 imagined a wave of sour breath washing over 222. "You came highly recommended, 223. Please prove, to me at least, that you are not as useless as this dolt sitting beside me. Who will soon be heading for Siberia with one way ticket."

223 heard the sound of 222's chair creaking back and forth.

"And will you stop that infernal rocking!" the Commandant shouted away from the receiver. "You are driving me insane!"

223 listened to the Commandant berating her fellow agent, and for a moment she had almost felt sorry for him. 222 had not always been a failure, it was just that he let his heart rule his head. He got angry quickly, and he had too much of an eye for the ladies- the wrong ladies. But he kept going. She could not fault him for that. It was not easy for him, to sit there and watch someone else succeed where he had failed.

Gilligan poked his head around the Supply Hut door, breaking 223 out of her reverie. "Hi, girls!" he said.

This time, 223 was ready. "Hi, Gilligan!" she chimed along with Ginger, but she rolled her eyes when neither of them was looking.

Gilligan sauntered in, smiling broadly. "What's cookin'? Smells great, whatever it is!"

"I thought I'd try a new recipe. Well. It's an old recipe, but it's new to us," 223 replied. "Borscht."

"What's _Borsh_?" Gilligan inquired, wandering over to see what she was stirring.

"Beetroot soup."

"Beet-root soo-oup?" Gilligan said the words slowly, drawing out the syllables in his mouth as though each one tasted of beetroot. He pulled a grimace of disgust and leaned over to peer at the contents of the cooking pot. As he did so, he glanced sideways and 223 realised with a start that he was trying to sneak a look down her top.

Her cheeks flushed almost as red as the borscht and she moved away from him, turning her back slightly. "What's the matter, Gilligan? Don't you like beetroot?"

"It tastes like mud," he declared. "And it looks like blood. Hey, that rhymes!"

"I'm happy to say there's no mud or blood in my recipe," 223 said, firmly. "It was handed down to me by my mother, and her mother before her."

"'Borscht' doesn't sound very Kansan," said Ginger, exchanging a glance with Gilligan.

"Oh...well, we didn't call it 'Borscht' in Kansas. We just called it 'beet soup'." 223 dipped the ladle into the deep red concoction. The warm smell of beets and onions wafted into the air, and 223 was suddenly reminded of home. _Her _home.

"Who calls it _Borsh_?" asked Gilligan. He was still standing disconcertingly close to her.

_Everyone in the world except you, _223 wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. "That's its proper name. It originates from Eastern Europe."

Gilligan's eyes widened. "Eastern Europe? Is that near Pennsylvania? That's where my Mom lives. She makes cabbage soup. I don't like that, either."

"You'll enjoy this," 223 asserted. "Besides. Like everything else we eat around here, it will end up tasting of coconut."

* * *

><p>Just before the sun went down, 223 told Ginger she was going to the hut for something. She quickly gathered a small container of borscht and a fresh gourd of water and ran through the jungle to the cave where Mary Ann was hidden. When she went inside the cave Mary Ann was on her side, sleeping fitfully. She shook the girl awake and helped her to sit up. She was groggy and disoriented.<p>

223 pulled away the gag. "You must eat," she said.

"Go away," Mary Ann mumbled. "I hate you. Whoever you are."

"Eat," 223 repeated. She held the container up to Mary Ann's mouth and attempted to pour in some of the soup.

Mary Ann spluttered as the unfamiliar red liquid touched her lips.

"It is okay, it is borscht. Beet soup. There is no poison." _Yet,_ she added in her mind.

"I want to go home," Mary Ann said, her voice small and broken.

"You cannot, just yet. I have work to do. But come. Eat, and we shall see what happens in the morning. Rest assured that no-one has come to any harm." 223 brushed a strand of hair out of Mary Ann's eyes. "Gilligan is safe. He is making fun of borscht even as we speak." Her attempt to engage Mary Ann in some light-hearted humour fell flat, but Mary Ann swallowed the soup and admitted that it was nice.

"Thank you," said 223. "Is old recipe, from Ukraine. Handed down through generations of women in my family."

"I'd like to have the recipe," Mary Ann said, softly. "That is, if I ever get the chance to use it."

"You can have recipe," 223 promised. "I will write it down and leave in Supply Hut."

Mary Ann drank more of the soup. "What do you plan on doing with us?" she asked. "Are you following orders from someone higher up?"

"That is not your concern."

"If me and my friends are going to die because your superiors think we're up to no good, then it _is_ my concern. Don't we get a chance to defend ourselves against your accusations? You talk of hardship and struggles, what about justice?"

"I knew it was mistake to take off gag," 223 scowled.

Mary Ann shook her head. "I never thought I'd see my own face looking back at me with such hatred."

223 reached for the gag. "Enough!" she said. "You have eaten. You will be safe tonight."

"What about the dark?" Mary Ann whispered.

223 sighed loudly. "Wait there." She left the cave and found her knapsack in the nearby bush. Inside was a small flashlight, and hooked to the bottom of the knapsack was a rolled up blanket. She took them both into the cave. "Do not say I do not look after my prisoners," she said, tersely. She shook the blanket out and draped it over Mary Ann's shoulders, then she switched on the flashlight and perched it on a rocky ledge. It cast a mid-strength beam of light on the far wall, with Mary Ann in the periphery, still sitting in semi-darkness. "That is better, da? No spiders or snakes will come to you now."

"No snakes except Russian snakes," Mary Ann retorted, as the gag returned to her mouth.

* * *

><p>The borscht was a success. The castaways loved it, especially Gilligan, who had second helpings, then third, and then wiped the pot clean with flatbread. He said it was one of the nicest things he had ever tasted.<p>

For dessert, 223 attempted her first coconut crème pie. She watched with her heart in her mouth as Gilligan carved himself a huge slice. As he plowed his way through the pie without looking up, she silently thanked her mother for teaching her how to bake. Gilligan ate the whole slice and dabbed up all the crumbs with his finger, and when he was finished he leaned back and rubbed his stomach contentedly. He looked over and smiled gratefully at her, his cheeks flushed with sugar. 223 smiled back, warmly. She found it touching that someone could appreciated another's efforts as much as Gilligan did, but there was another, darker reason why she was pleased he hadn't noticed anything was different.

It meant things were looking good for Phase Four.

After an evening of relaxation during which everyone seemed to pay special attention to her (especially the Professor and the Skipper), 223 lay in bed with her arms folded across her stomach and listened to the gentle sounds of the island at night. Whistling frogs and other insects peeped and chirped, and Ginger Grant breathed softly in her sleep.

Across the way in the Crew Hut, she knew that Gilligan would be laying in the top hammock, leafing through a comic book, his belly full and his mind sated. She wondered if he and Mary Ann thought about each other as they lay in their separate beds in the quiet of the night, and if they wondered whether things would ever change between them.

223 turned over and hugged her pillow. In the other cot Ginger murmured fitfully, her dream voice small and vulnerable, her cot creaking as she settled on her side and pulled her blanket up around her shoulders. 223 watched a firefly go past the window, winking like a tiny distant lighthouse. The night air was still and the vast arc of the universe hummed its timeless song around them, and the scent of some tropical flower whispered past her face and then was gone.

There were approximately 24 hours left of her assignment, but Phase Four was not something 223 wanted to think about right now. With her communicator switched off for the night and a soft, warm bed to sleep in, 223 could almost feel like she belonged.


	11. When Is A Date Not A Date?

The next morning, 223 woke early. She knew it was her job to make breakfast so she slipped into the gingham dress and started about Mary Ann's business. She resolved to be cheery and charming, perky and irrepressibly happy, even if it it hurt her face to keep smiling all day.

She paid another visit to the cave. On her way there, the Commandant's voice rasped out of the communicator in the front of her dress. She pulled it out and opened it up, glad that the man couldn't see her rolling her eyes. "Da, Commandant," she said, curtly.

"The clock is ticking, 223," he said loftily. "What plans do you have for this, the final stretch of your assignment?"

"Today I am going on 'date' with Gilligan."

In the background, 222 chuckled. "Gilligan is lucky man," he snickered.

"Tell that _dumbkov_ to stop his giggling," 223 muttered. "He did not do so good on date himself."

"I will tell you both to stop your petty bickering," the Commandant said sharply. "You are both drinking in last chance saloon. I am very disappointed in you, 223. I am beginning to feel recommendation was a hoax."

"You can trust me, Commandant, but these people are very hard to understand. They talk in riddles, they go around in circles. They say they are shipwrecked- I am starting to wonder if in fact, they were banished."

"Banished?" the Commandant said, thoughtfully. "Is interesting theory."

"I told you they are not dangerous," 222 insisted. "Is only Gilligan you must watch out for. Gilligan can cause more chaos on his own than twenty circus clowns put together."

"I am beginning to believe you," 223 said, wryly.

"That is nicest thing you have ever said to me," 222 shot back.

"Break it up," the Commandant snorted. "There is plenty of time for lovebirds to smooch when they are in Siberia. You can keep each other warm, da?" Laughing at his own joke, he continued. "Agent 223, you now have 24 hours to complete your mission. Do not disappoint me."

"Da, Commandant." 223 was about to shut her device when 222's voice came through again.

"Maybe when you are back in Moscow, you can go on date with me too, da?"

She heard the smirk in his voice and she didn't like it. "In your dreams,_ slaboumnyĭ_," she said angrily, and slammed the makeup case shut.

In the submarine, the Commandant turned to 222 and frowned in puzzlement. "She called you 'imbecile'," he barked. "What is so funny about that?"

"You did not hear the way she said it?" 222 grinned, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped over his stomach. "Is most beautiful thing I ever heard in my life!"

223 reached the cave and stood for a moment to compose herself. She took a deep breath, put all thoughts of 222 and his insufferable smugness out of her mind, then pulled aside the vines and went in.

"Good morning!" she trilled, gaily.

Mary Ann pulled herself into a sitting position and peered at 223 through groggy eyes. The Kansas farm girl was now completely dishevelled. Her pigtails hung loose, her identical gingham dress was so grimy under the thin blanket that the check pattern was barely visible. Her limbs were streaked with dirt, her face streaked with mascara and tears. She had tried chewing on the gag in an attempt to bite through it, but had not succeeded. Her bonds had also lasted through the night.

223 switched off the flashlight and the cave sank back into gloom. "Tsk, tsk, tsk" she muttered, shaking her head. "What would Gilligan think if he saw you now?"

"Mmmmm," Mary Ann replied, glaring at her.

"What was that?" 223 yanked her gag aside to give her some water.

"I said, 'Gilligan doesn't judge people on appearances'."

223 smiled wickedly. "He seemed to enjoy my appearance last night." She pushed a chunk of papaya into Mary Ann's mouth before she could answer. "Not to mention the pie that I made. No-one suspected a thing!"

Mary Ann swallowed the papaya past a sudden lump in her throat. "You made a pie?" she whispered.

"Coconut crème," 223 grinned. "Gilligan's favourite, nyet? As they say, 'a man's heart can be found in his stomach'. In his case, is very true."

"You may think you're getting away with this," said Mary Ann, "but sooner or later Gilligan will find out who you are."

"The only thing Gilligan will discover," 223 smirked, leaning into the farm girl's face, "is what he has been missing all his life." She sat back with a sudden hoot of laughter.

Mary Ann squirmed and struggled. "You disgust me," she said angrily. "But go ahead- make your approaches. You'll soon find out all you need to know about Gilligan. That he's sweet, and kind, and generous, but above all, he's incorruptible."

"We shall see," said 223, replacing the gag. "I have a date with him today. If all goes well, you can thank me later. Of course, for you, there may not be a later. I am beginning to enjoy my little stay in this island. Perhaps I will decide to make it a permanent base, da?" She winked at the farm girl and stood up. She pushed her way out through the curtain of vines, leaving Mary Ann muttering fiercely behind the gag, tugging and pulling at her bonds, alas, to no effect.

* * *

><p>Gilligan came for her after breakfast. He appeared in the doorway of the girls' hut with two flasks of water slung over his shoulders and two butterfly nets in his hand, grinning from ear to ear. "You ready, Mary Ann?"<p>

223 jumped up and down like a little girl. "Oh, Gilligan! You look so intrepid!" she squealed.

"What's 'intrepid'?" he asked, puzzled.

"Courageous and adventurous!" she laughed, throwing her arms around his skinny waist.

He giggled, a little nervously, and looked down at her. "Uh...yeah, courageous. That's me, all right."

"Don't sell yourself short," she teased. "I think you are, and that's final!"

The Skipper and the Professor were standing in the clearing when Gilligan and 223 set out on their journey. 223 had prepared a small picnic of various tidbits, which she wrapped in a checkered cloth and carried in a wicker basket over one arm.

"My, don't we look jaunty!" the Skipper declared. "Looks like you're going on quite an adventure!"

"I'm intreppled," said Gilligan. "It means courageous and adventurous."

"I'm sure it does, Little Buddy," Skipper chuckled.

The Professor gave Gilligan a whistle. He had seen it before- it was the one he wore when he became the Skipper's deputy. He was momentarily puzzled. "Why do I need a whistle?" he asked, holding it up and peering at it while it twirled.

"In case you see a very rare butterfly," the Professor told him. "Or in case _anything else_ happens. I don't mean to scaremonger, but we've had enough experiences with native tribes now to realise that there's always a small threat of danger wherever we go on this island." As he spoke, he tried to signal to Gilligan with his eyebrows.

Gilligan peered at the Professor for a moment. He frowned studiously, then suddenly he brightened and slung the whistle around his neck. "Okay, Professor," he agreed amiably. "Have it your way. But don't expect me to whistle every time I stub my toe or fall over."

"Thank goodness for that," chortled Skipper. "That thing would be blasting out every two minutes!"

223 laughed at the First Mate's rueful expression. "Come on, Gilligan," she said, patting his arm. "We'd better get going if we want to catch those butterflies!"

"Remember, Little Buddy, whistle if you need anything," instructed the Skipper.

"Yes," said the Professor, raising his eyebrows. "Anything at all!"

"Okay, Skipper, okay Professor. Will do!" Gilligan lifted his arm up high and waved to them as he strode off up the path with 223 in tow. The Skipper and the Professor watched them laughing and talking together, and soon they were out of sight, two small figures lost in the overhanging foliage.

"I sure hope there's nothing to worry about, Professor," said the Skipper, turning to the man of science with a worried look.

"So do I, Skipper." The Professor patted the big man on the shoulder. "So do I."


	12. Sailors, Spies and Butterflies

223 and Gilligan made their way into the jungle. They pushed through banana leaves as big as elephant ears, glowing luminous in the bright morning sun. Occasionally 223 would find herself slightly off course and Gilligan would laugh at her, saying girls had no sense of direction, as she stumbled out of a hibiscus bush or stepped as daintily as she could over a fallen tree stump while he shyly held his hand out to assist her.

223's feet were beginning to chafe inside Mary Ann's shoes when the butterflies finally began to appear. First there was a bright red and yellow one, and then two shimmering greenish-purple ones. They fluttered on a course of their own, as butterflies do, wheeling and circling as though dancing with joy that their lives could be so perfect, if only for a day. They were even more beautiful than 223 had imagined. When she let out a sigh of amazement she was not putting on an act.

"I love those red ones," said Gilligan. "You don't see them as much as the green ones. But they're all special in their own way."

They had brought along an empty jar with holes pokes in the lid for air. Gilligan filled the bottom with twigs for the butterflies to rest on when they were caught. 223 found she wasn't surprised at the fact that Gilligan didn't take the butterflies home and pin them to a board. What was the point of admiring their beauty when they were lifeless?

Lifeless. Like Gilligan and his friends would be in a day's time.

223 bowed her head and looked at the ground.

"You okay, Mary Ann?"

Gilligan's voice brought her head up. She looked at his face, full of puzzled curiosity. "Of course I am, Gilligan. Why do you ask?"

"Well, no offense, but you've been acting kinda strange lately. Headaches, sore throats, talking to yourself, falling over Mr. Howell's horse, and that other stuff with the Skipper. If there's anything you want to talk about, like if you think you're getting sick or something, now would be a good time to do it. While we're out here on our own."

223 studied Gilligan's expression. His simple curiosity belied a surprising persistence. What a pity he wasn't on their side! And then she slumped inwardly, her heart sinking, knowing that she'd fallen at the first fence. Her Mary Ann impression had not been nearly as good as she'd thought.

"Thank you, Gilligan." She smiled, just a little tightly. "If there's anything I want to tell you, I'll do it when I'm ready."

He peered at her for a couple moments longer, and then he shrugged amiably and they continued on. He began to chat about Lord Beasley, who had come to the island to find the elusive Pussycat Swallowtail and had left without rescuing them. "One day, Mary Ann, someone's gonna come to this place who actually believes who we are and finally takes us home." Gilligan stopped to help her over a fallen log. "What's so mysterious or unbelievable about a boat running aground and seven people being shipwrecked? The real miracle is that none of us were killed."

223 listened to him in silence as they walked. She had suspected that the Pussycat Swallowtail was a codename for the President, and that Gilligan was somehow in contact with the USA. But now she wasn't so sure. Why had this Lord Beasley come all the way out_ here_? Surely The President would be sitting in his ostentatious palace in the Land of the Free, not sweating it out on an uncharted island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Perhaps the Pussycat Swallowtail really _was_ just a butterfly, and nothing else.

Gilligan continued to chat about the various people who had come to this island and 223 listened intently. His next words put her on alert.

"Then there was the guy who looked exactly like me, and I don't care what anyone says, after the Professor found the pocketknife, I knew that it was true. That guy _was_ on the island. I know, because I saw him, and I chased him, and I'm not a pre...pre...prevaculator, like what the Professor said."

"A 'prevaculator'?" said 223. This language threw up many surprises, which is why she had spent so long in 'Learning To Talk Like Your Enemies 101', but she'd never heard of that word before. "Well, at least it's better than calling you a liar."

"That's what I said. I'm sure glad you agree, Mary Ann."

"Tell me more, Gilligan. Did you ever find out who he was?"

"No," said Gilligan. "He was too quick, and too smart."

223 suppressed a smile.

"And he talked funny. Like this." Gilligan proceeded to do an alarmingly accurate impression of a Soviet spy talking in American English with a Russian accent. For a moment he even became 222, his frown and his scowl and the icy flash behind his blue-green eyes. 223 shivered. Seeing 222 imitated like this made her wonder if she'd underestimated him all along. Gilligan was bestowing on him a fierce determination and a sly, underhanded nature, and to a spy those were very desirable qualities indeed.

_Very _desirable.

"And then he said...'do you hav anyting to say before I kill you?' But I couldn't think of anything. And then his boat started taking off across the lagoon so I told him about that. And then he dived in the lagoon and swam out to his boat and that's the last I ever saw of him." Gilligan looked thoughtful. "I don't know why anyone would want to kill me. I goof off and mess things up, but I don't mean to hurt anyone. Why would anyone want to hurt me?"

223 swallowed past a strange lump in her throat. "I don't know, Gilligan. There are no answers for everything. Perhaps he was just a bad man who would have killed someone else just as easily as he would have killed you."

"That's sad." Gilligan stuck out his lower lip. "It's bad enough being stranded, but someone coming all the way out here just to kill you when you never did anything to them, is pretty mean. Don't you think?"

223 looked away and saw another butterfly, a blue one with bejewelled wings. She watched it cartwheeling across the clearing and her hand reached out and touched his arm without her knowing. "Yes, Gilligan," she said, watching the butterfly until it disappeared. "It is mean. But no-one can say why things happen. Sometimes they just do."

"They sure do." Gilligan nodded in firm agreement. "Like the Coast Guard putting out the wrong Weather Report on the day we left Hawaii. That 'just happened', and then look what 'just happened' after that!"

An inaccurate Weather Report on the day these people went sailing? 223 put her hand to the front of her dress, making sure her communicator was safe. That sounded like something the Commandant and his superiors ought to know about.

"Yes, that _was_ bad luck," she said in a mournful tone, "the Honolulu Coast Guard putting out the wrong Weather Report on the day we left harbour. To think, that's the only reason why you're...I mean, _we're_ here. All because of a silly Weather Report." 223 raised her voice slightly to make sure the Commandant could hear her.

"It wasn't a silly Weather Report, Mary Ann," Gilligan said, gravely. "It was the _wrong_ Weather Report. They put it out on the official channel that it would be a fine day, and it wasn't. That storm came out of nowhere. Think of all the other vessels that would have been sailing out to sea just like we did!"

223 thought about it. She was certain the Commandant could verify the events of that day if he asked someone to hack into the Coast Guard logbook from three years ago. If Gilligan was right, and that was the real reason why they were here, then perhaps she could wrap this mission up and go home before anyone even realised that Mary Ann was missing.

"You're right, Gilligan. The Coast Guard did make a bad mistake," she said, patting his arm and hoping the Commandant was taking notes. "But we came out today to look for butterflies, not go over old ground that we've no doubt discussed a million times already."

Gilligan pouted. "I bet they didn't get into as much trouble as I would have done!"

They carried on into the jungle. Through the trees up ahead, the glimpses of ocean sparkled and glittered and the sky arced clean and blue above them. Butterflies began appearing in their droves, as though all the leaves on the trees had sprouted wings and taken off into the air. 223 gazed up in wonder.

"They're so beautiful," she murmured.

"Aren't they?" Gilligan sighed. "Boy. I bet they don't even know how beautiful they are."

"Let's try and catch one." 223 put down the picnic basket and reached for one of the nets Gilligan was holding. He moved to hand it over, but somehow his arm went through the strap of a water bottle, and then his other arm went through the thread of the whistle as he tried to free it. Soon Gilligan was thrashing around with the water bottles and the whistle and the butterfly nets tangled round his gangly limbs in the sort of confused mess that 223 had only ever seen in a black and white silent comedy. It was all she could do not to burst into hysterical fits of laughter as she helped him to unhook everything, smacking his hand away gently when he started getting tangled up again.

"Dumb whistle," he muttered softly, trying to untangle the whistle from the water bottle which was wrapped around the butterfly net. "It's just one more thing to get in the way."

Something in Gilligan's mutterings gave 223 a sudden prickly feeling in her scalp. Was this the first time he'd been given a whistle to go butterfly hunting? If it was, then maybe it wasn't just because he was clumsy or they might see a rare butterfly or because there might be natives around.

Maybe it was because the Professor and the Skipper suspected something was different about their foray into the jungle this time.

And the only thing she could think of that was different- was _her. _

223 thought back to lunchtime yesterday when the Professor had asked her to start passing vegetables. She thought about every time she looked up at dinner to find the Skipper and Professor glancing at her, nodding and smiling in an inconspicuously friendly manner.

The icy feeling ran down her arms. Maybe it wasn't just Gilligan who had noticed the change in 'Mary Ann''s behaviour.

"Here_, _Gilligan_, _give me the whistle. I'll look after it for you." 223 reached quickly for the offending item.

Gilligan shook his head. "I better keep hold of it, the Professor gave it to me."

"But you're getting all caught up in it!"

"Take one of the water bottles instead," he insisted. "You can put it in the picnic basket."

"I'd rather have the whistle. It's lighter than the water bottle." 223 grabbed at the whistle again and he swung it out of her reach.

"No, Mary Ann. I should keep the whistle. You can have the water bottle."

"Gilligaaann!"

"No, Mary Ann!"

Before long, they were tussling over the whistle and the water bottles. 223's arms interlocked with Gilligan's. She tried to keep it away from his lips when it looked as if he might start blowing on it. "Don't be silly!" she huffed, "it's just a stupid whistle."

"Then why do you want it?" Gilligan countered. "If it's stupid?"

Amidst all the tussling, the water bottle with the whistle still wrapped around its strap fell off Gilligan's shoulder and onto the ground. 223 seized her chance and stood on the whistle. The sharp cracking noise under her heel was music to her ears. "Oh, no!" she cried, pretending it was an accident. "Now look what you made me do."

They both stared at the small pea that rolled out of the cracked whistle like a tiny convict escaping from a tiny prison.

"You broke it, Mary Ann," Gilligan chided, shaking his head. "You broke the Professor's whistle."

"I did, didn't I? Oh, dear, Gilligan. Do you think he'll be mad at me?" 223 raised imploring eyes and hoped she looked like a naughty little girl who was going to get into big trouble when she got home.

"No, he won't be mad at you," Gilligan sighed. "He'll be mad at _me_!"

"Never mind, Gilligan," 223 smiled, "I'll tell him it was all my fault. Anyway, we don't need a silly whistle, do we? Not when there's two of us. We look out for each other, right, Gilligan?" She held onto his arm and gave him the most obsequious smile she had ever given to anyone.

"Yeah, we do," Gilligan said, looking glumly at the shattered whistle, which he had picked up and now lay in three pieces in the palm of his hand.

223 pulled gently on Gilligan's arm and led him away up the path."Come on, Gilligan. Let's forget about the whistle and go find somewhere to have our picnic. Besides, who needs a whistle anyway? No wild natives would dare try anything with you here to protect me! In fact, I say good riddance to the silly old whistle!"

_And good riddance to you too, Professor Smarty Pants!_


	13. Agent of Fury

_A/N: In this chapter, there's a brief exchange between 223 and Gilligan which suggests Mary Ann's mother is deceased. I'm taking this as canon, because I think it was intimated in the show that Mary Ann lived in Kansas with her Aunt Martha and Uncle George before she took the trip aboard the Minnow._

* * *

><p>They chose to picnic at the top of a small rise with a beautiful view of the glimmering ocean. At the bottom of the rise was a tangle of trees and undergrowth where dozens of butterflies tumbled and twirled and danced around each other, delighting both spy and castaway alike with their antics.<p>

223 spread the checkered cloth on the grass and began placing the food on it. She had found all sorts of things in the Supply Hut that Mary Ann had stashed away. There was coconut crème pie and pineapple crème pie and banana crème pie, there were guava jelly doughnuts and savoury fish wraps. There were biscuits and dried fruits and coconut cakes. Gilligan stared hungrily at the food as each item appeared.

"Boy, Mary Ann, this sure looks good!" he declared, rubbing his tummy and licking his lips.

"Food fit for a king," she laughed.

"Yeah, a Kupa Kai king!" he grinned. "Like me!" And then he proceeded to do an impression of someone he called Mashuka, who was apparently, if Gilligan was to be believed, an old dead headhunter he had once been mistaken for.

Butterflies danced around them as they settled down to eat. They fluttered around Gilligan's head as he carried on prattling away about people called Norbert Wiley and Wrongway Feldman, making the island sound like a train station at rush hour. 223's head was spinning. These stories sounded so wild and farfetched they couldn't possibly be true. Not for the first time, she wondered if the island was actually a colony for people who had lost touch with reality.

223 leaned forward to select a guava doughnut when she felt that feeling of being watched again. She looked up to find Gilligan peering intently at the front of her dress. She brought her arm up immediately in case her makeup/communicator device was showing. "Gilligan," she asked, trying not to look worried. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Nothing," Gilligan shrugged. "Just admiring your dress."

223 stared at him. His face was quite unreadable. "Haven't you seen me in this dress a hundred times before?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied. "But I never told you how much I liked it before." He pointed at his own chest and gestured with his fingers. "I like the little ruffly things there."

223 looked down. Luckily her device was not visible. She let out a breath of relief. "It's not like you to admire the way I look," she said.

"Maybe I do. I just don't tell you," he answered, biting into a doughnut.

She smiled. "You know it's not very gentlemanly to stare, Gilligan."

"I wasn't staring. I was admiring." He polished off the doughnut and reached for another. "It's a nice dress. You were wearing it on the Minnow. It's pretty."

"Oh, well...thank you. For the compliment."

"You're welcome," he smiled, through sugar coated lips.

They continued to eat and watch butterflies. Gilligan pointed out a Painted Lady and a Cabbage White. "Those ones are everywhere," he mused. "They're very per...perlif..."

"Prolific?" It amused 223 to think that this time she knew the word he wanted.

"Yeah, that. It means there's a lot of them."

"Yes, Gilligan. I know," she giggled.

"I'm gonna try and catch one," he announced, polishing off a third doughnut, and then a fourth. "When I've finished eating, that is. Boy, these doughnuts sure are good."

"You certainly have a healthy appetite," she laughed. "My mother would love you!"

Gilligan looked up, midway through a fish wrap. "She would?" he mumbled. And then he looked puzzled. "I thought your mother was...um, well, I thought..."

"I mean, my mother would have loved you," she corrected quickly, judging by his expression that Mary Ann's mother had passed on.

"My mom used to say I ate enough for a whole Army platoon. And then I kind of proved her right when I joined the Navy." Gilligan finished the fish wrap and took another. "You make good food too, Mary Ann. Between you and Mom, I don't know who's best."

223 watched in awe as Gilligan happily piled food into his mouth. He was beginning to look less and less like a Secret Intelligence Operative and more and more like an uncomplicated young man enjoying the simple pleasures in life. His resemblance to 222 had also faded somewhat. With doughnut sugar on his chin and a happy look in his eyes, he could have been any mother's son having a picnic in the park with his girlfriend. If, of course, Mary Ann was his girlfriend, as opposed to just a friend who happened to be a girl.

"You wanna pass me the cookies, Mary Ann?" he asked, gesturing towards the plate while his mouth was still full of fish wrap.

223 had to lean over to get it. She felt the makeup case slip inside her dress, and suddenly she felt his eyes on her again. She froze, her fingertips almost on the cookie plate.

"Mary Ann," he said, his voice lowering slightly, "can I ask you a question?" He paused, thought for a moment, then took a deep breath and carried on. "Are you hiding something in your dress?"

223 swallowed. "What kind of a question is that?"

Gilligan pointed vaguely in the direction of her chest area. "I saw something move just now. In your dress."

223 sat up with the cookie plate and fixed a stern look onto her face. "That's a very personal thing to say, Gilligan. I don't know if I ought to dignify it with an answer."

"You could just say yes or no."

"I'm not hiding anything in my dress," she said, crossing her fingers behind her back and handing him the cookie plate.

Gilligan's eyes flickered downwards quickly, then back up. "You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." She thrust the plate at him again, hoping the food would distract him.

"'Cause this morning..."

"Gilligan!" 223 spoke sternly this time. "Please stop commenting on the front of my dress."

"Okay, Mary Ann. If you say you're not hiding something, I believe you." Gilligan declined the proffered plate. "I've finished eating," he told her. "C'mon, let's go catch some butterflies."

Gilligan got to his feet and held his hand out expectantly. Suddenly feeling a little unsure, but not wanting to further rouse his suspicions, 223 took it and stood up. He handed her a butterfly net and picked up the jar and motioned to her to follow him. "I'm looking for an American Lady," he said in a serious manner.

223 took the end of the butterfly net and placed it over her head. "Look, you caught one already," she announced, pleased with her own joke.

Gilligan raised his eyebrows, then he grinned and removed the net from her head. "You're not a lady," he said.

"I'm not?"

"No!" he looked at her as though it were obvious. "You're a_ girl_!"

223 watched as Gilligan begin chasing butterflies, the net swishing back and forth through the air. He ran and leapt like a gazelle, sometimes even turning in midair. But for all his aerobatics, he wasn't having much luck catching anything. The butterflies were natural flyers- he wasn't.

As Gilligan ran and chased butterflies, 223 surreptitiously began poking and prodding at the communicator in her dress. She wanted to take it out but she didn't want Gilligan to see her do it. She banged her chest with her fist.

"You okay, Mary Ann?" Gilligan called over.

"Just a crumb stuck in my throat," she called back, cheerfully. _Chert poberi! _He was more vigilant than he appeared! She thumped her chest again and gave a dainty cough. Finally she heard the gruff voice of the Commandant emanate from down inside her modest cleavage.

"There you are, 223. You have good news, I hope."

"_Nyet_, Commandant. You must stay silent for a while. Do not contact me unless I contact you first. There is some suspicion- they may have seen communicator."

"Gah!" the Commandant growled. "I told you to be careful!"

"I am being careful. And that is why I ask you to stay silent."

"Very well. We stay incommunicado for now. If there is danger, alert us with red button and we will vacate area. Red button is under mirror."

"You will come for me first?" 223 spoke out of the side of her mouth and waved cheerily as Gilligan looked over again.

The Commandant laughed curtly. "That depends on the trouble you are in!"

"We will come for you," 222 interjected, quickly. "Do not worry."

"Good," said 223. "Do not leave me here. This place is crazy."

"Then is perfect for you and this _dumbkov," _the Commandant muttered. "Very well. We sign off for now. Remember red button. If we do not hear from you by nightfall, we are leaving."

The communicator fell silent.

223 breathed a huge sigh of relief.

An orange and black butterfly careened past, and suddenly Gilligan was after it. "There she is," he cried. "The American Lady!" He swished the net in a wide arc, almost snagging it in an overhead branch. The butterfly darted away. It rose up and circled and dipped again and flew past his head. He turned and whipped the net around and knocked a hibiscus off a nearby bush. He chased the butterfly around in circles while 223 laughed at him, and then the butterfly changed direction and started heading straight for her.

"Gilligan, look out!" she cried, but it was too late. The butterfly soared up and over her head and Gilligan crashed straight into her, knocking her to the ground. The butterfly net flew out of his hand and hooked itself in a tree, and 223's makeup case/communicator device slithered out of the front of her dress and skittered along the ground amongst a flurry of leaves until it hit a stone and came to a clattering halt.

223 stared at it.

Gilligan stared at it.

223 and Gilligan stared at each other.

"A ha!" he yelled. "I knew it!" Gilligan was up on his feet before 223 had time to blink and get her breath back. He lunged for the communicator and snatched it up off the ground. "I got it, I got it!"

"Gilligan, please give me my makeup back!" 223 clambered to her feet, dusting off her dress. She took a step forward and winced. "Ouch! My leg!"

Gilligan stopped examining his new treasure and came over, suddenly concerned. "Gee, I'm sorry, Mary Ann. I didn't mean to knock you over. Are you hurt?"

223 nodded. "I think my leg really is hurt this time," she told him. "Not that it wasn't hurt the last time, she added.

Still clutching the makeup case, Gilligan reached down and brushed dirt off 223's knee. "I think you grazed your knee," he said, gravely. "We should call for help." He reached for the whistle around his neck, and his face fell. "Oh. We don't have the whistle any more. It got broken."

"It's all right," she said. "I can deal with a graze. Now can I please have my makeup back?"

Gilligan opened the makeup communicator and peered at its contents. "Since when did you carry makeup around?" he asked. "That's more like something Ginger would do."

223's scalp prickled as Gilligan began prodding at the eyeshadows. She thought fast. "I'm hiding it from Ginger," she said. "Her makeup ran out, and she wanted mine. So I hid it from her."

"Then why didn't you just say so?" Gilligan ran his finger over a purple eyeshadow. It was very near to the green one.

223 bit her lip. "Gilligan, please. Let me have it back."

"I'm just looking." He smeared the purple eyeshadow on his wrist. "I've seen Ginger do this," he grinned. Then he rubbed a blue eyeshadow and smeared that over the purple. His wrist shimmered and he held it up to the light. "Look, butterfly colours!"

"Very nice, Gilligan. Now please, give it back to me before you waste it all."

"You want it?" Gilligan's eyes suddenly became teasing. "Fight me for it!" He began sniffing and thumbing his nose, dancing around like Cassius Clay. "C'mon, Mary Ann, fight me!"

"Gilligan!" 223 couldn't keep the rising panic out of her voice. "Stop that! I want my makeup back. _Please_!"

"Stings like a butterfly, dances like a bee!" he sang. "G-I-L-L-I-G-A-N, that's me!"

"Gilligan, you give me that back, right now!"

223 began advancing on Gilligan with an expression like thunder. He snapped the makeup case shut and put it in his front pocket, twitching like a hare trapped by a fox. There was a wild look in his eye, as though he were getting ready to play a game, but the spy was not in any mood to play games or argue.

"Gilligan, if you don't..."

"C'mon, Mary Ann, come get it!"

Finally, 223 leapt forward, her hands grasping at Gilligan's red rugby shirt.

She missed.

Gilligan turned and bolted, yelling and whooping like a Native American warrior. He bounded all the way down the rise and into the copse of trees with 223 limping after him, cursing him to the heavens in all the languages she could think of.

"Foolish boy," she muttered, angrily. "Foolish, foolish boy. For when I catch you, you will rue the day you were ever born!" Although she wasn't quite sure how she was going to catch him when he ran like a rabbit and her grazed knee throbbed painfully in tune with her rage.

Meanwhile, Gilligan ran leaping and laughing, vaulting effortlessly over boulders and fallen logs, checking back every now and again to see if 'Mary Ann' was still pursuing him. He was just about to pause for breath and let her catch up when his foot hit a clump of earth that began to give way underneath him. He flailed his arms to try and regain his balance, but it was no use. The ground dissolved under his feet and suddenly he was plummeting downwards.

Gilligan's last thought was "should have remembered this island was full of underground caverns," before he hit the next level with a bone-jarring _whump._


	14. Gilligan To The Rescue!

"Ow!" said Gilligan, struggling into a sitting position. "Boy, that was some fall!"

He rubbed his arm and looked up. There were thick tangles of tree roots crawling all the way down every wall of the small cavern he now found himself in, but, as he'd expected, there was no sign of any disturbance to show where he had fallen through.

The roof of the cavern was too high and too overgrown for Gilligan to attempt to climb back out that way, but as he began looking around to get his bearings he realised that there was a dim light source from somewhere up ahead. He clambered to his feet and dusted himself down, smiling ruefully as he felt for Mary Ann's makeup case in his front pocket. He took it out and opened it, checking for damage. Mercifully he had landed on his back and he couldn't see anything that was broken- even the mirror was still intact.

Gilligan shoved the makeup case back into his pocket and walked, rather stiffly, towards the light source. Shortly he came to the end of a small dark tunnel. There was sunlight up ahead, filtering in between tiny gaps in a matted curtain of tangled tree roots. He snapped the roots, forced the curtain aside and pushed himself through.

He was now in a cave that apparently led to the outside world.

"Hooray!" he muttered to himself. He started through the cave, stopping briefly to say hello to the small, crouched figure in the corner that made muffled noises as he passed, before pushing aside a tangled curtain of vines and stepping into the sunlight.

Gilligan was almost on the nearest path leading back into the jungle when he stopped in his tracks.

He blinked.

Small, crouched figure in the corner?

Gilligan turned to look back at the cave. There was someone, or _something_, in there! He pushed his way back inside. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the sudden gloom and tried to hurry up the process by rubbing them, but that only made it worse. As he stood there blinking and rubbing and rubbing and blinking, the noises from the small, crouched figure in the corner got louder and more desperate-sounding.

Finally Gilligan was able to see in the near darkness. He approached the small figure cautiously.

"Hello?" he ventured. "Hello? Who are you? What are you? And why are you hiding in this cave?"

"Mmmm! Mmm-mmm-_hmmm_!" The figure's muted cries were excited but unintelligible.

"Sorry, I can't understand you. I don't speak Muffled."

"Mmmm. Hmmmmm! _Mmmmmmmm_! _Hmmmmmmmm!_"

"Okay, okay, There's no need to get sore!"

The figure was small and filthy and bedraggled and its hair was tangled and matted like the interlocking vines that hid these caves from the outside world. It struggled and pitched forward, and suddenly Gilligan saw that it was gagged and bound.

He also saw that it was human.

Gilligan'e eyes flew open. He was now close enough to see the crouched figure properly. When he realised who it was, he did a double take worthy of the Skipper.

"_Mary Ann_?"

Big brown eyes stared up at him, imploring. "Mmm-mm-hmmm. _Mmm-mm-hmmm_! Hm _hmmm_!"

Gilligan knelt down and scrabbled for the dirty gag that held her words back, ripping it away from her mouth. "Mary Ann, what happened? Who did this to you? Why are you in this cave?" Then he blinked, confused. "And how did you get from up there to down here so fast?"

"Gilligan!" Mary Ann began babbling as soon as she could speak. "Gilligan, oh, Gilligan! Thank goodness you're here! That other Mary Ann isn't _me_! She's a spy, Gilligan! A spy! She wants to kill us all! Oh, Gilligan, untie me, _please_!"

But Gilligan was already untying her. He tugged at the knots binding her ankles and fought with the knots binding her wrists. He saw the reddened bands around her skin and he worked fast because there was a sudden fierce rage inside him that he was finding it hard to contain.

Mary Ann kept babbling. "Spies, Gilligan, spies! They're evil and they want to kill us!"

Gilligan became impatient and shouted at the knots that wouldn't untie. His fingers scrabbled at Mary Ann's bonds until at last he had worked them just loose enough for her to remove her limbs. He threw his arms around her without even thinking about it and he felt her trembling arms wind around his neck. He buried his face in her hair with his eyes closed, barely able to comprehend what was happening.

"Oh, Gilligan," She sobbed into his neck and he felt her tears run down inside his collar. "I'm so glad to see you. I thought you were all dead and I was next."

"I knew it," he whispered. "I knew it, Mary Ann! There's been something weird about you all day. Um, not you, _you_. The other you. The you that looks just like you. You know what I mean."

"Oh, Gilligan." Mary Ann's small laugh was erratic and shaky and full of relief. "I _do_ know what you mean. I've never been so happy to hear your gobbledygook in all my life."

Gilligan grinned at that. Then he became serious again. "Mary Ann, we have to get out of here and tell the others. Do you think you can stand up?" He got to his feet and pulled Mary Ann gently to hers, but she cried out as her legs cramped and her knees buckled. She fell against him, clinging round his neck like a baby monkey. Gilligan soothed her with comforting words while she found her legs, knowing that if he let go she'd fall to the ground and really hurt herself.

Eventually she pulled away from him slightly and looked up. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess," she whispered. "I must look awful."

Gilligan shook his head. "You're not a mess, Mary Ann. You're beautiful. She's the one who's in a mess- or she will be, when I find her."

Mary Ann lifted a grimy hand and smoothed the hair away from his eyes. "I never lost faith in you, Gilligan. I knew that if there was just the slightest chance of finding me, you would."

Gilligan attempted to smooth the hair away from her eyes too, but it was so matted his fingers got stuck. Instead he just pulled her into him and held her tight. "I'm sorry I took so long," he murmured. "Boy. I knew there was something wrong. I _knew_ it!"

"She looks just like me, doesn't she? I never thought I'd end up coming face to face with my exact double."

Gilligan was in the middle of thinking how nice Mary Ann felt in his arms when he suddenly went cold.

At the same time, Mary Ann froze in his embrace.

"I was just telling that other Mary Ann about the guy who took the pie," he whispered. "The guy who looked exactly like me."

"Oh, Gilligan," Mary Ann said in a tiny voice. "It was true, wasn't it? There _was _a double of you on the island. Just like there's now a double of me."

"And now they're back and it's happening all over again." Gilligan frowned and shook his head. "Boy, Mary Ann. The people that we want to rescue us, they go away and we never see 'em again. But the ones who want to kill us just keep coming back!"

Mary Ann stifled a small sobbing laugh. "What are we going to do?" she whispered.

"We're gonna tell the Skipper and the Professor, and then we're gonna find her, and we're gonna...oh, wait." Gilligan's mouth turned down at the corners. "That guy had a Death Ray. In his shiny gold pocketknife. He said he was gonna kill me with it. What if she has a Death Ray, too?"

"Where would she keep it?" Mary Ann asked. "She doesn't have a shiny gold pocketknife."

Gilligan fished in his front pocket and brought out the makeup case. "No, but she has _this_. This is what she's been hiding from us all this time." He shivered involuntarily. "To think, I was playing with the colours and all along it could have had a Death Ray in it!"

Mary Ann recoiled away from the makeup case. "I might just become frightened of cosmetics for the rest of my life," she squeaked.

"You don't need cosmetics, Mary Ann," Gilligan said, shyly. "You're beautiful enough without all that stuff."

"Why, Gilligan, what a lovely thing to say!" Mary Ann reached up to kiss his cheek, then wiped it with her thumb. "Sorry- I got you all dirty."

Gilligan blushed and went back to examining the closed makeup case. "I don't know if this has a Death Ray or what it does. I'd like to smash it up, but who knows what might happen?"

"What if she has a Death Ray some other place? What if she's hidden something in one of the huts?" Mary Ann's eyes went wide and her hand went to her mouth.

Gilligan tucked the makeup case back into his pocket. "The guy who looked like me had a knapsack. Have you seen a knapsack, Mary Ann?"

"No," Mary Ann replied. "Although...last night I complained of the dark and she gave me a blanket and a flashlight. She was only gone a couple of minutes, so there must be something hidden near the cave. Something with all her supplies in it."

Gilligan began looking around the cave. "There are fruit skins everywhere. Has she been feeding you?"

"Yes, she brought fruit and water, and something called...oh, I forget. Beet soup."

"_Borsh_," said Gilligan. "It's a recipe from her mother. From the East." He turned and looked at Mary Ann with his eyebrows drawn darkly together. "And I don't mean Pennsylvania."

"Oh, Gilligan. I can't stand the thought of that woman cooking food for you."

"Me, either," Gilligan replied. "In fact, it makes me feel sick to my stomach."

Finding nothing in the cave, Gilligan and Mary Ann went outside. Mary Ann ducked her head and squinted sharply as the sunlight hit her for the first time in a day and a half.

"Ouch."

"Don't worry, Mary Ann. It'll get better." Gilligan put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close as they searched the nearby undergrowth, as if afraid to let her out his sight for one second. "I think I know what I'm looking for. That other guy's knapsack was pretty basic. It had a blanket tied to it, and a water bottle and two straps that...a-HA!" Gilligan reached into a bush and withdrew the thing that they'd been looking for. "Gotcha!"

Together they opened the knapsack and began examining its contents. There wasn't much. A camouflage jacket. A pair of tiny binoculars. A set of skeleton keys with a sharp implement for picking locks. A shiny red apple, and lastly a novel written in an alphabet that was unfamiliar to either of them. On the front of the novel was a drawing of a man and a woman kissing. Both of the characters wore black turtlenecks and held guns.

"You girls." Gilligan shook his head in mild disgust. "No matter where you're from. Always with the kissing."

Mary Ann allowed herself a smile of amusement as she watched Gilligan flicking through the pages. "Looking for more pictures?" she teased.

He threw the book down. "No," he said, shrugging.

"Oh, Gilligan." She laughed suddenly. "Come here!"

He stared at her, wide eyed. Waiting.

"My hero," Mary Ann said, gently. And she pulled his head around and kissed him firmly on the lips.

Gilligan struggled briefly, mumbling his protests, but soon fell silent.

After a few moments his arms even stopped flailing.

When she finally let him go, their lips parting with a soft smack, Gilligan fell back on his haunches and nearly toppled over into the bush. She giggled shyly as he righted himself and straightened his hat. He looked more than a little flustered.

"That was for saving my life," she smiled.

"Hold on, Mary Ann, I haven't quite saved it yet." Gilligan grinned wryly at her before smoothing down his shirt and returning to the knapsack.

The last items he pulled out were a mid sized brown glass bottle like a medicine bottle, and a small phial containing a clear liquid. Both had labels in the same unfamiliar lettering.

"What are these?" Gilligan wondered. He unscrewed the lid of the brown bottle.

"No, Gilligan! It's poisonous!" Mary Ann reached for the bottle and grabbed it away, but not before Gilligan had taken a whiff and reeled backwards, his eyes unfocused and blinking.

"She knocked me out with a handkerchief soaked in some awful chemical. It must have been this one!"

Gilligan sat forward, shaking his head to clear it. "We better get them to the Professor. If that's what the big bottle does, who knows what the little one does. Something tells me it's not something she dabs behind her ears."

A thought struck Mary Ann then. "Gilligan," she whispered, leaning close to him. "Where do you think she is?"

Gilligan looked up. "That's a good question. We were hunting butterflies, and..."

"You were hunting butterflies? With _her_?"

"I thought she was you!" Gilligan protested. "That is, I believed she was you. Kind of."

"Hmm. You'd better make sure I don't get to her first," Mary Ann muttered. "Taking liberties with you like that!"

"She didn't take any liberties," Gilligan reassured her. "Whatever liberties are," he added.

Mary Ann began putting the spy's possessions back in the knapsack. "One thing's for sure, Gilligan. She's somewhere out there and we need to stop her. But we can't just go racing back to camp shouting about it. Not if she has a Death Ray or some other means to kill us. I mean, for all we know she's got reinforcements hidden in the trees. That other guy might even be here."

"I'm just happy someone finally believes me about that," Gilligan confessed.

"I should never have doubted you in the first place," Mary Ann sighed, clipping the knapsack shut. "I knew something was wrong with you that day, too. But I trusted the Professor's logic and reasoning over my own instincts." She reached up and tugged on the brim of his hat. He looked up at her dirty fingers. "I'm sorry, Gilligan. That's the very last time I ever doubt you about anything."

"It's okay, Mary Ann. It _was_ kind of a way-out story, even I had to admit that. Guess it's not so crazy now though, huh."

The two youngest castaways sat and stared at each other.

"What are we gonna do?" said Gilligan, finally.

"I don't know," said Mary Ann, "but whatever we do, we're going to have to act fast. And Gilligan?"

"Yeah?" Gilligan watched her curiously, waiting for the next thing she was going to say and wondering if he was going to like it.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to tie me up again."

* * *

><p><em>Thanks everyone for reviewing so far. It would seem that some of you are already ahead of me :) :) :)<em>


	15. How To Catch A Spy

223 stood just inside the copse of trees, scratching her head. Gilligan was fast, she had to admit, but surely not so fast that he could just vanish? She had no idea where he'd gone and he wasn't answering her calls.

"If you're hiding, Gilligan, you better come out now because I'm not coming in there after you!"

Still no answer.

223 bit her lip. For all she knew, the infuriating boy was sitting in a tree prodding at the communicator until he discovered that the green square was really a transmitter and the pink powder was really a receiver and the mirror concealed a red button that would bring all manner of problems- not just for himself but for all the other people on this island, too.

Including her.

And then she had a sudden chilling thought. Perhaps with the failure of her mission, on top of the failure of 222's mission, they would _all _end up succumbing to the dreaded Phase Four. Not only Gilligan, the Skipper too, the millionaire and his wife, the movie star, the Professor and Mary Ann, but herself and Agent 222 as well.

With that grim thought in mind, she pushed her way further into the trees and stepped up her efforts to find Gilligan.

He _couldn't _have gone far...

* * *

><p>"I'm really not happy about this, Mary Ann."<p>

Gilligan crouched behind Mary Ann inside the cave, winding the dirty bonds around her wrists and ankles just as they had been when he found her.

"I know Gilligan, neither am I. But you need to tell the others what we've found without arousing her suspicions," Mary Ann told him. "If she comes back and finds me gone, she'll know for certain she's in trouble."

"It's not fair, though. You've been stuck in this dark old cave since yesterday morning and I don't want to leave you here a minute longer."

Mary Ann smiled at him over her shoulder as he made every effort not to chafe her with the tangled ropes. "That's very gallant of you, Gilligan, but it's different this time, because now you know exactly where I am."

"I still don't like it. I'm turning you into a prisoner again. What if she kills us all and you're still in here? Who will come for you then?"

Mary Ann tugged on the bonds to test them. "We just have to hope that that doesn't happen. I don't like it any more than you do, but imagining everyone dead isn't going to help us."

Gilligan watched her wrists moving freely inside the restraints. "Are they loose enough?"

"They're perfect- I can hardly feel them. My feet are all right, too. Don't forget the gag."

Gilligan screwed his face up. "That thing is disgusting! I'm not putting it back on your face."

"Gilligan, please! I know how you feel. If the situation was the other way around, I wouldn't want to do this to you, either. But we have to, for now. Besides, it's only temporary. Just keep telling yourself that everything will soon be back to normal."

"I don't think I even know what normal _is_ any more."

"Gilligan, please don't look sad. Everything will work out fine, you'll see. Now come on, put the gag back on and you won't have to listen to me lecturing you any longer." Mary Ann smiled warmly to show that she was joking.

Gilligan plucked the dirty gag off the floor with a look of extreme distaste. "Okay, Mary Ann, but when this is all over we're gonna have the biggest party that you ever saw. And _I'm_ gonna do all the work. You won't even have to lift a finger!"

Mary Ann laughed, wishing that her wrists weren't tied so that she could throw her arms around his neck. "That sounds wonderful, Gilligan. The thought of a party is enough to get me through the next few hours- or however long it takes to catch that horrid spy. Thank you!"

"You're welcome." Gilligan shook the worst of the dust and dirt from the crumpled gag and held it in front of Mary Ann's mouth. "You know I'm only doing this because I have to, right?" He looked at her for a few moments, meeting her warm brown gaze. Then he ducked his head and kissed her quickly on the lips before sealing the kiss onto her mouth with the gag.

Mary Ann was now as bound and gagged as she had been when Gilligan found her. It hurt him to see her this way, but the determined look on her face said he had done the right thing. There was also a look in her eye that said she had been surprised by his kiss, and he smiled back in a way that said he had been surprised by it too.

And then there was a sudden loud noise, like breaking branches and vines being torn, and a loud, piercing cry from somewhere back in the depths of the adjoining cavern.

And then a dull thump.

And a loud curse.

In Russian.

Gilligan's head whipped around to the rear of the cave, then he stared back at Mary Ann in panic. "Mary Ann! That's _her_! She must have followed me into the woods!" He patted the square lump in his pocket where the spy's communicator rested. "She must really want this back! It must be as important to her as the other guy's shiny gold pocketknife was to him!"

Mary Ann's eyes widened and she began gesturing frantically towards the outside with her head. "Mmmmm, mmmmmm! _Mmmmmm_!"

"I can't leave you here, Mary Ann," Gilligan whispered. "I can't!" He made a move to put his arms around her in order to pick her up but she shied away and shook her head frantically from side to side.

"Mmmmm!" Mary Ann pleaded with her eyes and Gilligan pulled the gag down so that he could hear what she was saying. Her voice was urgent. "Gilligan, you have to go! I'll be fine! Really, you must go, quickly! For heaven's sake, don't let her think anything is wrong!"

Gilligan threw his hands up and let out a grunt of frustration. Then he pulled the gag hastily back into place and scrambled to his feet. "I'll come back for you, Mary Ann," he hissed, heading for the exit. "I'll come back for you real soon, and that's a promise!"

* * *

><p>223 staggered to her feet, dazed and disoriented by her sudden fall. One minute she had been standing near a tree, the next minute she had innocently taken a step back and fallen into some ridiculous hole that hadn't been there before.<p>

"Stupid, crazy island," she muttered. Now her knee really was throbbing- and so was her rear end, which she had unceremoniously landed on.

When she had recovered her breath and most of her composure, 223 headed for the source of light that trickled through a curtain of vines at the end of a narrow tunnel. All the way there she cursed this wretched island and its inhabitants. Maybe it was beautiful at night when everyone else was asleep, but all she wanted right now was to be as far away from it as possible, and in order for that to happen, she first had to find that infuriating Gilligan and her precious communicator.

It didn't take long for 223 to reach the end of the tunnel. There was speckled light up ahead, filtering through a matted curtain of vines and roots. She pushed her way through and found herself in a smaller cave that led to the outside. She took a moment to get her bearings, and in that fleeting space of time she suddenly realised where she was.

The prickly feeling in her scalp became an icy chill that swept through her whole body, and this time it actually made her shiver. She looked over to her right, hoping against hope that she had made a mistake, and that this was some other cave.

But no- there she was.

Mary Ann Summers.

Still safely gagged and bound, by the looks of things.

223 hurried over to the girl, who was lying on her side in the dirt. She looked to be sleeping. Her dark hair had fallen over her face and a long, matted strand waved gently to and fro in front of her nose. 223 made a quick visual check- the restraints were still in place, the gag still firmly tied around the girl's mouth. She looked most uncomfortable, laying among the stones and scraps of vegetation that hung from the walls and trailed across the floor, but her breathing was rhythmic and steady.

223 nudged Mary Ann with her toe.

Mary Ann stirred and mumbled sleepily. 223 bent down and pulled the gag away from her mouth.

"Aunt Martha? Is that you?"

223 shook her head. The girl's confinement was making her delirious! "Nyet. Is not Aunt Martha. Is me."

Mary Ann opened her eyes into narrow slits. "What do you want now? There's nothing more to tell you. I'm innocent. We're _all _innocent."

223 hunkered down and studied Mary Ann's expression as intently as she could in the gloom. "I am looking for Gilligan," she said, tersely.

Mary Ann stared back at her and then let out a short laugh. "I'm the last person you should be asking."

"Don't be funny! I am asking! Gilligan ran from me and disappeared. I followed him. Next thing I know, I am here. Tell me now if Gilligan was here, too."

Mary Ann snorted so loudly that the sand next to her face blew up in a gust. "You're getting crazier and crazier by the minute. I finally managed to fall asleep. Then I was having a wonderful dream about riding my horse on my farm back home, and you wake me up to ask me your preposterous questions? In case you hadn't noticed, I'm as tied up and helpless as they come. If Gilligan was here, don't you think he'd have rescued me?"

223 stood up. "I do not want to believe you."

"That's what makes you such a rotten spy," said Mary Ann. "Always thinking everyone's lying. What evidence have you collected so far? None, I'll bet."

223 scowled down at Mary Ann. "My superiors sent me on this mission to get results, and I will give them results if..." she paused, biting her lip.

"If it's the last thing you do?" Mary Ann finished 223's sentence for her.

223 shook her head. "It will not come to that. I am smarter than you think. I am smarter than _anyone_ thinks. I have had small setback, that is all. I will find Gilligan and then you will all see how smart I am. You will all be sorry you doubted me!"

"I won't be sorry to see the back of you," Mary Ann said, dismissively.

223 leaned over Mary Ann and grasped her chin, pulling the farm girl's face towards hers. Her voice was low and threatening. "Do not mock me. Tell me _now_, if Gilligan was here."

Mary Ann was unafraid. She looked directly into 223's eyes. "Do you see Gilligan in this cave? Do you see me still tied up and helpless?"

223 let Mary Ann's head fall back onto the sand. "If I find out you were lying..."

"You'll do what you want anyway."

223 tugged the gag roughly over Mary Ann's mouth. She headed for the exit. "Do not think you have outsmarted me," she hissed. "I will find Gilligan. And _when I do_...!"

The spy pushed her way out of the cave, still muttering. The heat of the sun fell on her like a blanket after the cave's cooler interior and she stood for a moment blinking against the sudden harsh light. Birds called high above and somewhere in the distance a monkey chattered. And then a single large, yellow butterfly fluttered by.

223 had not yet seen a butterfly like it on the island. In spite of her anger she watched, enraptured as it danced and circled above her head. She felt herself smiling as the yellow butterfly wheeled around and around, descending out of the sky like a satin ribbon blown from a young girl's hair.

223 was still smiling as the butterfly drifted towards the ground.

And then the smile promptly froze on her lips as she saw it.

The tell-tale footprint of a size eleven sneaker in the sand.

The butterfly continued to whirl and dance but 223 was no longer paying it any attention. She looked around in a panic and saw more sneaker prints, and then more, and even more. She turned and fixed her eyes on the ground outside the cave entrance.

There was a set of sneaker prints coming out. Another set going back in. And then a third set coming out again.

223's blood began to roil in her veins. "_Gilligan_," she whispered, trembling with sudden rage. "Gilligan_ was _here!"

223 burst back into the cave, startling Mary Ann with her sudden entrance. The farm girl struggled into a sitting position as the spy advanced, her eyes wild and furious.

"You lied!" she snapped, angrily. "You lied! Gilligan was here! His footprints are all over this place!"

Mary Ann swallowed hard. She shook her head, unable to speak through the gag.

223 rushed over to the farm girl and crouched down in front of her. "I asked you for truth and you lied. And you accused me of doubting you?" The outraged spy began shaking Mary Ann fiercely by the shoulders, sending her tangled hair flying back and forth across her face. Mary Ann felt tears springing into her eyes at the woman's ferocity. "Where is Gilligan?" 223 shouted. "Tell me, _now_! _Where is Gilligan_?"

Mary Ann moaned in despair behind the gag, unable to answer the spy's furious accusations as the woman shook her back and forth, rattling the very teeth in her head.

She had almost given up all hope when the vine curtain covering the exit miraculously parted. There was a sudden blur of red and white and a familiar voice yelled-

"_Here is Gilligan_!"

Mary Ann squealed behind the gag as she realised her friend had returned to the cave. Before 223 even had time to react, Gilligan whipped his arm around and clamped a handkerchief soaked in chloroform firmly around her face. 223's eyes rolled as the wave of chemicals hit her and then she slumped forward without a struggle, landing in a heap on top of Mary Ann like a puppet with its strings cut.


	16. The Real Mary Ann

Mary Ann stared at the spy who lay sprawled across her lap. She stared at Gilligan. Gilligan stared back at her. There were a few moments of adjustment to what had happened. Then Gilligan blinked and seemed to realise where he was and what he'd just done.

"I couldn't leave you, Mary Ann," he said, his face serious.

"Mmmnn mmmmm, Ggnnnhg-gnnnn. Mmmnn mmmmm!" Mary Ann couldn't really thank him the way she wanted while she was still bound and gagged. She struggled under the surprisingly heavy weight of the unconscious spy and waited for Gilligan to help her out of her bonds, already tasting her freedom through the dusty rag covering her mouth.

But instead, to her horror, Gilligan's natural curiosity got the better of him. She struggled and shook her head wildly as the inquisitive First Mate lifted the chloroform-soaked handkerchief to his own nose. "Boy," he said, taking a hearty sniff. "This stuff really does w..." Gilligan blinked once or twice. Then his eyes glazed over completely and he slumped sideways with a goofy grin still plastered to his face.

Mary Ann felt as if time stood still. Her eyes widened in shock as she watched her friend, her would-be rescuer, hit the dirt with a soft thump, still clutching the handkerchief.

Now she was on her own, trapped beneath a knocked out secret agent with her best friend lying on his back just two feet away.

This day was certainly shaping up to be a doozy.

Fortunately for all of them, Gilligan hadn't retied Mary Ann's bonds very tightly. Left to her own devices, Mary Ann shoved the spy off her lap, grit her teeth and set to work freeing herself.

* * *

><p>The castaways were setting the table for a slightly late lunch. The Skipper figured that Gilligan and Mary Ann had taken enough food with them to stay out for most of the day, so no-one was too worried when the two youngest members of their group did not return for the mid-day meal. All agreed that no-one had heard the whistle being blown.<p>

Ginger and Mrs. Howell had prepared a very passable vegetable soup and mixed salad, and the Skipper was already sitting at the table with his spoon poised eagerly and a napkin tucked into his collar.

"When Gilligan isn't here that usually means more food for the rest of us," he grinned at Mr. Howell.

"Indeed," agreed the millionaire. "But when Mary Ann's not here, it means there's more of _Ginger's_ food for the rest of us!" He pulled a face of comic distaste, and the Skipper chuckled and told him to stop before the movie star heard him and made him wear his lunch all over his head.

The five remaining castaways were all seated and beginning to enjoy their soup when a small whirlwind in the shape of a dirty and bedraggled young girl raced into the clearing. The Skipper dropped his spoon into his soup with a splash that sent hot liquid all over his shirt front. The Professor paused with his spoon almost to his mouth, a chunk of carrot falling off and landing in his lap. Mrs. Howell gasped in ladylike astonishment and Ginger and Mr. Howell raised their eyebrows and stared at the ragged, gasping creature that now stood in front of the table, gesticulating wildly.

"Professor! Skipper! Everyone, it's me, _Mary Ann_!"

"Oh, my!" declared Mrs. Howell, lifting her lorgnette. "Whatever is the matter, dear?"

The Professor got up immediately and ushered the hysterical farm girl into a chair. "Mary Ann, sit down! Take a deep breath and tell us what's happened!"

The Skipper suddenly noticed that the girl was alone. He whipped the napkin out of his collar, his food instantly forgotten about. "Where's Gilligan? Where's my Little Buddy? And why are you so dirty, Mary Ann? Where have you been? Why didn't either of you blow the whistle?"

"What whistle? I don't know anything about a whistle! Gilligan's in the cave, the cave I've been tied up in since yesterday!" Mary Ann's grimy hands flapped in front of her face as she gasped for the breath to fuel her excited babbling. "I was knocked out, then tied up in a cave, and then there was another cave, and he fell through, Gilligan that is, and he untied me, and then we found her knapsack..." she looked around, wildly, and seemed to murmur to herself, "...oh! I wish I'd brought it with me!"

The Skipper stared at her, anxiously. "What knapsack? Mary Ann, what are you talking about?"

"_Her _knapsack, Skipper! The spy's knapsack. Professor, everyone, she's a _spy_!" Mary Ann's eyes flickered wildly around the table. She held up her hands as if to say, _what's the problem in believing me?_

The Howells and Ginger were completely perplexed. Mrs. Howell's fingers played nervously at her throat, twisting her pearls around and around.

"Slow down Mary Ann! Who's a spy?" the Skipper exchanged a startled look with the Professor. "What on earth is going on?"

The Professor handed Mary Ann a cup of water. "Mary Ann, please, start again from the beginning, as clearly as you can." He spoke in a soothing tone, rubbing her back gently as though she were a small baby.

Mary Ann accepted the water and drank thirstily, clearing a day and a half's worth of dust from the back of her throat. Water spilled down her front as she gulped and gulped until the cup was empty. When she had finished drinking, she set down the empty cup and took a deep breath to compose herself. "Professor, Skipper, everyone, please listen carefully and please believe every word I say, because it's true. There's another me on the island. There's another me, who looks exactly like me, who's been pretending to be me. She knocked me out and tied me up and I've been in a cave since yesterday morning."

The Skipper looked dumbfounded. "Another you?"

"Yes, Skipper."

"Like there was another Gilligan?"

Mary Ann nodded excitedly. "Yes! Yes, Skipper, exactly like that! And she's bad. Oh, she's evil! She's a spy, just like the other Gilligan was a spy!"

The Professor's face fell slightly. "And you want us to believe you, just as Gilligan wanted us to believe him."

Mary Ann nodded. Her expression grew worried and she clutched at the Professor's sleeve. "Please believe me, Professor. Don't just humour me, the way we humoured poor Gilligan. He was telling the truth all along. There _was_ another him, and now the same thing has happened again. They're back, only this time it's _my_ double pretending to be me!"

Ginger looked down at her plate. Mr. Howell opened his mouth and then closed it, for once speechless.

"Mary Ann," the Skipper began. "When you fell over Mr. Howell's polo pony, did you by chance hit your head?"

"When I did what?" Mary Ann stared at the Skipper in surprise. "Skipper, I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't fall over anything! I'm telling you, I've been tied up in a cave, and now Gilligan's in the cave, and so is the spy, because the spy found out that Gilligan had found me and then Gilligan knocked out the spy and then he knocked out himself!"

The Professor raised his eyebrows. He patted Mary Ann's back even more gently. "Mary Ann, may I suggest..."

Mary Ann cut him off instantly. "No, Professor, you may not suggest! There really is a double of me, just like there was a double of Gilligan. We didn't believe him, but it was all true. Spies who look exactly like us have been coming to this island to find out who we are and why we're here!"

"But that's preposterous!" said the Skipper.

"I should say so!" declared Mr. Howell, indignantly. "I mean, who doesn't know the name _Howell_?"

"They don't," said Mary Ann. "They think we're all up to no good."

Ginger pursed her lips daintily. "I don't know how to say this, Mary Ann..."

Mary Ann cut Ginger off too. "Then don't say it, Ginger. I'm not going crazy. Look at me! Do I look crazy?"

The five castaways studied her dirty, rumpled, bedraggled form and began to murmur amongst themselves and nod slowly.

"Oh! You're all so infuriating!" Mary Ann cried. "_Look at me_! I'm disgusting!"

"I wouldn't go that far, Mary Ann," the Skipper muttered, awkwardly. "A little dusty, maybe..."

"Nothing a nice hot bath won't take care of," suggested Ginger. "And perhaps a small sedative."

Mary Ann thrust her wrists out. "What about these marks? Look! You think I tied myself up just for fun?"

The mood around the table changed as everyone saw the reddened chafe marks, made worse by her recent struggles, circling both of Mary Ann's wrists. "There are some on my ankles if you need more proof," Mary Ann told them. "I'm telling you, there's a spy on the island who is my exact double. She's been fooling you since yesterday morning."

"My dear, those are very nasty marks," Mrs. Howell said, peering through her lorgnette. "I for one don't believe you inflicted them on yourself."

The castaways all looked at each other, a little sheepishly, while Mary Ann continued to hold her wrists out, staring them all down, willing them to believe.

"Oh- and I suppose you couldn't have got into such a mess just from chasing butterflies, even if you _were _with Gilligan, the walking disaster," said Ginger. "You look like you've been dragged backwards through a hedge and rolled down a hill into a compost heap!"

There were mutters of agreement all round.

"You see? I'm not crazy. Just like Gilligan wasn't crazy. Do you believe me now?"

"This could certainly explain the things we've noticed lately, like Mary Ann's sudden right-handedness," said the Professor, his face falling.

"The way she practically threw herself at me!" said the Skipper, smiling apologetically at Mary Ann when the farm girl stared at him with her mouth hanging open. "I should have known right then and there that it wasn't the real Mary Ann!"

"And she's been acting strange with me too," said Ginger. "Almost as if she hates me."

The Skipper shook his head. "To be honest with you Mary Ann, we all thought you were behaving strangely. But we never thought it wasn't you at all!"

Mary Ann raised her chin defiantly. "Believe me, Skipper. Whatever she's been doing in my name, I denounce all of it."

"This doesn't bear thinking about!" Mrs. Howell said, miserably. "You poor, poor girl!"

"Oh, Mary Ann, I'm sorry for suggesting you were...you know," said Ginger, mournfully. She circled her index finger next to her head.

"That's all right, Ginger," Mary Ann replied. "It's a far fetched story and I know that, but every word of it is true."

The Professor's face set into a look of grim realisation. "Skipper, if Mary Ann is right, then I think we may have been had. Not once, but twice."

There was a low ripple of remorse around the table.

"Poor Mary Ann! And poor Gilligan!" said Ginger. "He said he was hit on the head and kidnapped, and I told him 'that's nice'."

The Skipper stared morosely at the table top. "My poor Little Buddy! I should have learned by now that Gilligan always tells the truth, even when it comes out sounding like a garbled mess. But the story of his double was just too wacky to believe!"

"I know, Skipper," said Mary Ann. "But now's your chance to make it up to him. He's down in that cave, unconscious, and so is she. They wouldn't wake up and they were both too heavy for me to move. I tied her up before I left, but we have to go back for Gilligan before she recovers!"

It was as if an electric shock had travelled round the table, jolting everyone into action. The Skipper got up from the table so fast his chair fell over. "My Little Buddy needs me!" he shouted.

"He needs all of us," said Mary Ann, as everyone got up, throwing down their spoons and napkins. "Come on!"


	17. Hot Pursuit

For the second time that day, Gilligan came to. He dragged himself into a sitting position, shaking his head to get rid of the inexplicable muzzy feeling that made his skull throb and his ears ring unpleasantly. Straightening his hat, he looked around and briefly wondered what he was doing sitting in a small cave in the near-dark.

Then he noticed the chemical taste in the back of his throat, and suddenly he remembered everything. The spy, the ambush, and then his act of utter stupidity. "Ohhhhh, boy," he said, sadly. "Mary Ann's gonna kill me!"

He scrambled into a crouching position, trying to ignore the banging in his head.

"Mary Ann," he hissed. "Where are you?"

"Mmmmm, mmmm," came a muffled cry.

Gilligan threw the chloroformed handkerchief aside and crawled over to the shadowy figure that sat huddled against the boulder. The girl's pigtails were loose and her dress was filthy. Her skin was covered in dirt.

She was also on her own, with no unconscious spy sprawled across her lap.

Gilligan's heart sank. "Oh, no," he sighed. "She's gone! Mary Ann! I'm so sorry!"

The girl nodded, equally sadly.

"She must have woken up and escaped while I was out cold, before I'd had a chance to untie you."

Again, the girl nodded at him in the gloom.

"It's all my fault, Mary Ann. I don't know what came over me. I just wanted to see what..." he sighed again, even louder this time. "I goofed again, just like I always do. Why don't I ever listen?"

"Mmm, mmmmm, mmmm." The girl began to struggle against her bonds.

Gilligan scooted over. "Sure, Mary Ann, I'll untie you. I guess it's safe- I don't think she'll be heading back to this cave for a while, now that she's been discovered."

The girl shook her head slowly. Glittering brown eyes peered up at Gilligan as he began removing the bonds around her wrists and ankles.

"No-one's ever gonna believe us now, and it's all thanks to me." Gilligan pulled the gag away from her mouth with an apologetic smile.

"It's not your fault you're a klutz, Gilligan," the girl said, blinking her big eyes at him.

Gilligan's face fell. "See, Mary Ann? Even you think so."

She laughed musically, but there wasn't much warmth in the sound. "You poor thing. Well, at least now you know what chloroform does."

Gilligan found himself shivering involuntarily. "Yeah, and I wish I didn't."

Fully freed now, the girl rose to her feet and began to stretch her arms and legs. "I must say, Gilligan, that spy really was a lot smarter than we gave her credit for."

"It sure doesn't take much to be smarter than me," Gilligan said, morosely.

She glanced at him sharply, but said nothing. Instead, she continued to rotate her limbs in front of him. "Maybe we should just forget about the whole thing and hope for our sakes she's gone for good."

Gilligan's jaw dropped. "_What_? We can't just forget about the whole thing!" He got to his feet. He watched her stretching like a gymnast while a vague uneasy feeling prickled at the back of his neck.

"All right, Gilligan. But the least we can do is put it behind us and stop worrying. She'll probably be half way back to her own country by now. There's no way she'd _ever_ come back here."

"I don't know," Gilligan murmured. "I have a real bad feeling she'll be back." He watched her roll her head, lifting and dropping each shoulder in turn. Her movements were almost hypnotic. "Watch your legs, Mary Ann, they're still weak from being tied up."

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with my legs, Gilligan." She pointed the toe of her shoe and flexed the muscles of one slender, tanned thigh. "See?"

Gilligan blushed deeply and looked away.

"Awww. So shy." She lowered her leg and smoothed down her dress, suddenly realising that the graze on her other knee was showing. Thank goodness for his gentlemanly behaviour!

"So, what are we gonna do now?" Gilligan chanced a quick look to see if she was 'decent', breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that she was.

"Well, first of all, we must return to camp and let the Professor check us over." Her eyes flashed at the mention of the Professor, and again Gilligan felt that strange shiver.

"Good idea," he agreed. "I don't want to stay in this awful cave another minute."

"But before we go," she continued, "I would just like to examine my appearance in the mirror of that makeup case you st..._took_ from the spy."

Gilligan's hand went instinctively to his front pocket. "What? Why? You don't need to look at yourself- you can do that when we're back at the huts. Besides, we agreed not to touch it, in case there's a Death Ray inside it."

She smiled, batting her eyelashes. "Please, Gilligan?"

"Nuh-uh, Mary Ann. We agreed. It's not safe."

"Gilligan, are you refusing my request?" she pouted like a little girl.

Gilligan backed away from her. "I guess I am," he nodded.

She sidled closer. "Please, Gilligan. I just want to see how bad I look. I don't want to horrify the others too much!"

"You won't horrify anyone, Mary Ann. They'll be so happy to see it's really you. You know they will."

"Gilligan, please, just do it for me. You can hold it up while I look." She swung her hips and looked at him like a hopeful child.

Gilligan heaved a great sigh. He shook his head mournfully as he fished the makeup case out of his pocket. "Why do I get myself into these situations?" he lamented.

"Because you're the sweetest boy I've ever met, and you don't like saying 'no' to people," she told him with a soft laugh.

"You got that right," he agreed.

Gilligan opened up the makeup case with his eyes half screwed shut in case it exploded. He held it out at arms length, angling the mirror towards her. "Here," he muttered. "Take a good look at yourself- it may be your last."

223 whipped her arm out and snatched her communicator out of Gilligan's outstretched hand.

"_Hey_!" he shouted. "What gives?"

223 darted for the cave exit, holding the communicator aloft like a prize. "_You_ take a good look, foolish Gilligan," she said triumphantly, in her own voice this time. "It may be_ your_ last!"

And then the cackling spy was out through the vine curtain and gone, leaving a bewildered Gilligan standing open-mouthed and empty-handed in her wake.

* * *

><p>The castaways chattered excitedly amongst themselves as they hurried toward the caves. They bombarded Mary Ann with questions, talking loudly over each other, but the farm girl had long ago stopped listening.<p>

All she wanted was to find Gilligan safe and catch that rotten spy.

They were nearly at the caves...

* * *

><p>223 stopped by the bush where her knapsack was hidden and made a grab for her bag. She expected it to slide easily out of its hiding spot and was already on her way before she snapped back and almost fell on her behind. She stood up, muttered an oath and grabbed the strap with both hands.<p>

The knapsack wouldn't budge.

Peering closer, she saw that the straps had somehow become wound around a branch. She tugged furiously, cursing out loud, wishing that some hideous disease would cover Gilligan and Mary Ann in festering boils for the rest of their lives, before giving her bag such a yank that it opened up and spilled its contents all over the ground. A cold bead of sweat trickled down her spine as she began scrabbling in the dirt, groping wildly for all her precious possessions. She clutched at the phial of poison and shoved it down the front of her dress.

And then the sound of vines being ripped and torn made her look up sharply.

Gilligan was out of the cave and heading straight for her, and he did not look happy.

At all.

223 leapt to her feet. She left the rest of her belongings where they were and bolted away as fast as she could with the furious First Mate in hot pursuit.

She didn't even notice when he stopped to pick something up off the ground.

* * *

><p>"<em>There she is<em>!" Mary Ann screamed out loud and started jumping up and down and pointing. The others ignored her at first, caught up as they were in their own anxious discussions, but Mary Ann continued to shout and then grabbed at the Skipper's sleeve for emphasis, almost pulling the big man off balance.

"Look, everybody, _there she is_!"

One by one the castaways stopped talking and looked in the direction she was pointing to. There in the near distance was a small, gingham clad figure disappearing hurriedly into a clump of trees.

"_What the_- ?" cried the Skipper.

"It's Mary Ann!" cried Ginger. "I mean, it's the other Mary Ann!"

"Egads!" cried Mr. Howell. "We've been duped by a duplication!"

"Come on!" cried Mary Ann. "Let's get her!"

With the Kansan farm girl leading the way, the six castaways stepped up their pace and made a beeline for the trees.

* * *

><p>223 ran harder and faster than she'd ever run in her life. The graze on her knee re-opened, sending fresh blood trickling down her leg as she sailed over logs and boulders. She had no idea how close Gilligan was and she didn't even dare lose time by looking behind her. She just ran and ran and ran, hoping to make it to the small dinghy she had concealed near the beach on the morning that she had arrived, so full of hope and expectations.<p>

Gasping for breath, she opened her communicator, flipped up the mirror and activated the red button. For a split second she heard nothing and wondered if the button had worked at all.

And then the Commandant's voice came through, loud and clear.

"You have woken me up!" he barked. "What is problem?"

"You told me to warn you if there was trouble," 223 gasped, as she jumped over a log and sent a chattering monkey crashing back into the trees. "Well, there is trouble! _Big_ trouble! I have been discovered!"

The Commandant uttered a blue stream of curses. In the background, she heard the startled voice of 222 trying to get a word in edgeways.

"I am on my way to beach," 223 continued, her breath tearing painfully from her lungs. "I will launch dinghy and head out to sea. You must wait for me!"

"You are _bespoleznyĭ, _223! You are useless!" the Commandant spluttered.

"She is not useless!" 222 argued, but was immediately silenced by his furious superior.

"_You_ do not tell me what is what!" the man shouted. "You are both in big trouble when I get back to Moscow! 223, if you are not at sea in one half hour, we leave without you!"

"But...!" 223 panicked. "You said you would wait!"

"We wait!" the Commandant yelled. "For one half hour!"

A trailing tree root almost brought 223 to her knees as she ran without looking where she was going. _Chert voz'mi,_ _I am losing concentration,_ she thought, wildly._ I am almost at the beach. My dinghy is there. I must not give up hope..._

"Very well," she agreed, tersely. "One half hour."

She snapped the communicator shut and stepped up her pace.

* * *

><p>Despite being the smallest castaway and the one who had been through the worst ordeal, Mary Ann was firmly in the lead as they raced through the jungle. The Professor was close behind her, with the Skipper not far behind him, but the rest of them were beginning to straggle. Ginger's high heels made it almost impossible for her to run, and the Howells, as they were fond of pointing out, never ran anywhere- they walked, very fast.<p>

At a fork in the path, a flying red missile came out of nowhere and crashed straight into the Skipper.

It was Gilligan.

"Little Buddy!" the Skipper yelled. "Little Buddy! You're okay!"

Gilligan found himself crushed in a giant bear hug which he struggled fiercely to break free from. "Sure I'm okay, Skipper, but please- save the hugs for later." He began running again, pulling at the Skipper's shirt. "Look, the Professor and Mary Ann are already way ahead of us. We gotta catch that spy!"

"You're right, Little Buddy, let's get her!" The Skipper began running after Gilligan, but the First Mate had already let go of his shirt and left him far behind.

* * *

><p>Mary Ann ran with grim determination. She heard the commotion behind her, she heard Gilligan yelling and the Professor grunting with exertion. Knowing that Gilligan was okay gave her extra strength, and her desire to see the impostor caught and jailed gave her more energy than she'd ever felt in her life.<p>

She could see the spy darting in and out of the trees about 500 yards up ahead and found herself leaping high over any obstacle in her way. She wondered if this was how Gilligan felt when he ran. Exhilaration pumped through her veins as she imagined herself as a fox, or even a wolf. Something cunning in pursuit of something scared.

She hoped the spy _was _scared. She hoped the spy was as scared as she had been, tied up in that lonely cave in the dark while the spy tried fooling all of her friends into thinking she was Mary Ann Summers.

While the spy tried fooling Gilligan into thinking she could be trusted.

Mary Ann's thoughts began tumbling end over end as she ran, taking on a life of their own.

_If I had died in that cave, the deception would have been complete. That woman would have disposed of my body and carried on being me, and no-one would have known until it was too late. _

_If I had died in that cave, poor Gilligan would never have forgiven himself. __Ever._

Unwanted images of Gilligan destroying himself through grief chilled Mary Ann to the bone and sent her careening down the path like a woman possessed. For the sake of all her friends, but especially for Gilligan, there was no way she was going to let that...that lying, scheming, murderous _creature_ escape.

She was going to catch that spy.

_Even_ _if_ _it's the last thing I do!_


	18. Mary Ann Pitches In

223 flew off the jungle path and onto the beach. She stopped for a brief moment to get her bearings, then headed in the direction of the undergrowth where she'd stashed her dinghy. The only thing on her mind now was launching herself into the water and activating the little outboard motor that would send her home, back to her own people. She didn't care how angry the Commandant was. All she wanted was to get off this island.

She searched the foliage with her eyes until she saw the snout of the little green boat poking out between two hibiscus bushes. She ran over and began dragging the dinghy out of its hiding place, her heart pounding in her chest.

One half hour was all she had, but if she moved fast, like the wind, she would make it.

* * *

><p>Mary Ann heard thumping footsteps coming up fast behind her. Thinking it was the Professor, she looked around expecting to see his blue shirt and khaki pants, but it wasn't the Professor. It was Gilligan, and the red of his shirt was so bright that it almost blinded her.<p>

"Gilligan! You're safe!" she gasped.

"I'm sorry, Mary Ann," he panted. "It was all my fault. I let her get away!"

"Oh, Gilligan, don't worry about that now! She's down on the beach. If we hurry, we can make it before she escapes!"

"If we hurry?" Gilligan watched her legs pumping like a blur. "Mary Ann, you're running even faster than me!"

Mary Ann grinned and reached out for his hand. "Come on Gilligan. We'll do this thing together!"

* * *

><p>223 was halfway down the beach with her dinghy when she heard the shouting. She looked up just in time to see two figures break out of the trees, stop a moment, and then start heading straight for her.<p>

"She's got a boat!" yelled Gilligan.

"Stop right there!" cried Mary Ann.

223 thrust her hand down the front of her dress and brought out the phial of poison. "_You _stop right there!" she barked. "Don't come any closer!"

Mary Ann stopped in her tracks. Spots began to dance in front of her eyes and blood pounded hotly in her ears. _Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh. _Gilligan skidded to a halt right beside her, spraying sand everywhere.

"One more step and you die," 223 warned.

"How?" Mary Ann shouted.

"Death Ray!" the agent bluffed.

Mary Ann pulled her shoulders back and jutted her chin. "Show us proof!" she demanded.

"What?" gasped Gilligan. "Mary Ann, what are you- ?"

"I don't think she has a Death Ray," Mary Ann said, her voice as steady as she could make it. "Or she would have used it by now."

"I have this!" 223 held up the phial. "Is extremely dangerous poison! One drop in the air and everybody dies!"

"Including you?" Mary Ann continued to call the spy's bluff.

"No! Is intelligent poison. Only kills foolish Americans." 223 waved the phial as she carried on dragging her dinghy with one hand.

"She's bluffing," Mary Ann whispered.

"How do you know?" asked Gilligan, worriedly.

At that moment, the Professor came flying out of the trees, and shortly after that, the Skipper, red-faced and sweating profusely.

"Professor, is there such a thing as smart poison that only kills Americans?" Mary Ann told the breathless man of science what the spy had just told them.

The Professor shook his head vehemently. A bead of perspiration flew out of his hair. "No," he said, loudly. "She's bluffing!"

"That's what I said," Mary Ann asserted.

"Is no bluff!" the spy yelled. "One drop kills you all!"

"I would advise you to give up your ridiculous threats and come with us." The Professor spoke in a low, ominous tone as the four castaways began advancing slowly on the spy.

223 began to panic. She lost her one-handed grip on the dinghy. "No!" she shouted. "You will not take me alive!"

"How about if we take you unconscious?" Gilligan muttered, drawing a glance from Mary Ann.

"Gilligan, you didn't bring the chloroform?"

"No," Gilligan whispered. "But I brought this." He indicated towards his hand. Mary Ann looked down and saw that he was clutching the spy's shiny red apple.

"Don't be stupid," the Professor said, calmly. "Come with us and no-one will get hurt."

"I will kill you all," the spy hissed, uncorking the phial.

"Leave your boat and come with us!" the Skipper barked. "That's an order!"

"I do not follow your orders!" 223 shouted, her voice hoarse with rage. "I follow the Commandant's orders!" She let go of the dinghy and held up the makeup case.

"I knew it!" Gilligan cried. "That's her communicator! I knew it!"

The Howells and Ginger finally made it onto the beach and stood hesitantly in a small huddle, further up near the trees.

"Forget about the poison," the Professor said, trying to sound soothing, "And listen to us. We are not trying to make trouble. Either for you _or_ your country, or even our own country. All we want is to be rescued, the same as you."

223's eyes flickered wildly around the ragtag group of castaways that were advancing upon her. "I don't trust you," she snarled. "American capitalists!"

"Well, she's not wrong about that," Mr. Howell admitted.

The Professor smiled benignly. "I assure you, we, personally, are not at war with anyone here."

"I tried to tell her, Professor," said Mary Ann. "But she still thinks we're dangerous!"

The Skipper laughed at that. He went over to Gilligan and threw his arm around the first mate's skinny shoulders, almost making Gilligan drop the apple. "Dangerous?" he guffawed. "Look at us. Do we look dangerous?"

"Is all pretend! You only _make _yourselves look stupid," 223 growled. "Especially him." She jerked her chin at Gilligan. "He is worst one. His stupid act is more convincing than anyone else's!"

The Skipper smiled sweetly and gave Gilligan a gentle squeeze. "That's because it's not an act," he chortled.

Gilligan looked up at the Skipper. "Thanks, Skipper!" he grinned.

"You're welcome, Little Buddy."

223 backed further away from the castaways. She was now trying to push the dinghy with her legs while holding both the phial of poison and the makeup case towards them and uttering all the threats she could think of, both in Russian and in English. But the dinghy was not obliging. It began to skid sideways. The weight of the small outboard motor was making things impossible.

The seconds ticked away.

One half hour became fifteen minutes.

223 was desperate to make her escape. "If you do not let me go, I swear I will kill you." She spoke with as much fury as she could muster, which wasn't difficult. "I will make sure that you die slowly, horribly, and above all, painfully. Especially you, Professor. You think you are so smart, da? You are not so smart. And Gilligan? You are also not so smart."

"She's not wrong about that, either," the Skipper muttered, shrugging apologetically when Gilligan glared at him.

It seemed as though nothing would break the stalemate, when suddenly Gilligan looked up past the Skipper's shoulder and into the sky.

A bright yellow butterfly dawdled over their heads, its wings iridescent in the sun.

"It's the Pussycat Swallowtail!" he gasped, breathlessly. "Look, everyone! It's the Pussycat Swallowtail!" He pointed into the air with his long, skinny arm, and everyone automatically looked up and saw the butterfly.

223's eyes widened in shock. "_That _is the Pussycat Swallowtail?"

"Uh-huh!" Gilligan smiled and nodded. "Lord Beasley said it's one of the rarest butterflies in the world!" Behind his back he felt Mary Ann reach for the apple. He let the fruit slip from his fingers and into hers, and then dropped his empty hands to his sides.

223 looked up as the butterfly sailed over her head. It was the same yellow butterfly she'd seen at the cave. The same beautiful butterfly who had alerted her to the presence of Gilligan's footprints. The one that had drifted like a ribbon on the wind.

Her mouth dropped open in wonder.

The moment the spy was distracted, Mary Ann stepped away from Gilligan. She leaned back, raised her arm and launched the apple high into the air. The solid, round fruit described a perfect arc, up and up and up. The sun winked off its polished red surface as it spun against the blue of the sky like a baseball, and then down and down it went, directly towards her impostor's head, almost in slow motion.

The castaways held their breath.

223 saw the butterfly dart away, as if reacting to something. She looked around just as the apple came sailing down out of the bright blue sky and hit her squarely between the eyes, sending her sprawling backwards onto the beach.

The bruised fruit bounced off the spy's head, thumped into the sand and rolled lopsidedly down to the shoreline where it was picked up by a breaking wave.

The phial of deadly poison flew out of 223's hand and landed near the shore where its contents seeped out harmlessly into the diluting mix of sand and water.

The makeup case/communicator flew out of her other hand and landed with a splash in the surf, where it sank immediately to the bottom to be rolled around and broken against the rocks.

"Ouch," said Gilligan, peeking through his fingers.

The castaways rushed over and stood around the fallen spy in a tight circle.

"That's one way to bob for apples I suppose," said Mr. Howell, while Mrs. Howell peered through her lorgnette at the wet splodge of apple juice in the dead center of the spy's forehead.

Agent 223 blinked up in a daze at all the different faces looming above her. Gilligan with his wide turquoise eyes and shock of dark hair, the Skipper, pink-cheeked and angry like a grizzly bear, Mr. and Mrs. Howell, imperious but always slightly baffled, Ginger, frightened yet still beautiful, the Professor with his permanent look of mild interest and lastly, Mary Ann, the seemingly perfect girl next door.

Mary Ann was looking straight down at her. 223 noticed that there was not a trace of anger left on the farm girl's face. No crease of fury marred that perfectly smooth brow. There was only curiosity and puzzlement, and dare she hope, mercy.

223 smiled almost beatifically at Mary Ann as she sank slowly and gently into a comforting dream where giant yellow butterflies carried her home through the clouds on their soft, silken wings.

"Oh, dear. Do you think I really hurt her?" Mary Ann asked, worriedly.

"No," the Professor said, lifting the spy's wrist. "Her pulse is strong. But she may have a slight headache when she wakes up."

Relief began to course through all of the castaways as they milled around the unconscious spy.

"Mary Ann, you should play baseball," Gilligan said in a tone of complete awe. "That was some pitch!"

Mary Ann grinned. "I've brought down many an unruly cousin with a well aimed apple in my time!" Everyone laughed at that, and then Mary Ann threw her arms around Gilligan and buried her face against the red of his shirt.

"Oh, Gilligan. I'm so glad that's over," she mumbled into his chest.

"Me too, Mary Ann," Gilligan said, resting his cheek on her head. "Me too."

"Come on," said the Skipper, clapping the Professor on the back. "Let's get this shady character back to camp. And let's make sure nothing happens to that dinghy!" he added, pointing at the spy's little boat. "That could be our ticket out of here at last!"

* * *

><p>In the submarine that lay waiting offshore, the Commandant looked at his watch. He looked at the clock on the console in front of him.<p>

"One half hour is up," he growled. "She is not here."

The man at the periscope pleaded for more time. Sweat trickled out of his hat and ran down his neck into the white collar of his red shirt as he gripped the handles and rotated the periscope around and around, scanning the waves for any sign of 223 and her little green dinghy.

"Five more minutes, Commandant. Please!"

"_Nyet_." The Commandant stood up and roughly pushed 222 aside. "Give me a look."

He pressed his big, red face up against the eyepiece and looked out over the sparkling ocean.

"All I see is water and more water...and that infernal island."

"She will be on her way," 222 pleaded. "Just give her ten more minutes."

"Pah!" The Commandant snapped the handles into the closed position and lowered the periscope. "Five minutes? Ten minutes? Next thing you will want us to go looking for her. Nyet! She is failure. Just like you. Only this time, she is on her own."

222 felt his jaw tense and his eyes narrow into slits. He stood there, shoulders hunched, his fists clenching and unclenching as the Commandant picked up the radio handset and began issuing orders to the engine room.

"We must depart these waters," the big man shouted to his crew. "_Immediately_!"


	19. Bird In A Cage

It was a subdued group of castaways that returned to the huts. At the head of the group was the Skipper, carrying the unconscious Agent 223, her head lolling back over one beefy arm. Then the Professor, carrying the spy's knapsack which they had retrieved from the bushes near the cave. Ginger walked close by the Professor, and the Howells huddled together behind her. Bringing up the rear was Gilligan, holding Mary Ann gently in his arms, having picked her up when emotion and exhaustion finally overwhelmed her.

At the cave, Gilligan and Mary Ann had shown the castaways the scene of the crime. They pointed out the spot where Mary Ann had lain gagged and bound since the previous morning when she'd gone down to collect the laundry. Mrs. Howell put her gloved hands to her mouth and gasped, while Ginger burst into tears and hugged Mary Ann so hard that the farmgirl almost fainted from lack of oxygen. And then everyone had started crying. Even the Professor, who quickly wiped at his eyes with a handkerchief, startled by the intensity of his own response.

"I'll never disbelieve anything anyone says, ever again," muttered the Skipper, tears coursing down his cheeks as he gripped the spy tightly. "I'm the Skipper, and it's my job to follow up on everything I'm told, no matter how crazy or ridiculous it sounds!"

"Even when I say it?" sobbed Gilligan.

"_Especially_ when you say it!" nodded the Skipper. He shifted the spy in his arms so that he could reach his eyes.

"Here, let me," said Gilligan, mopping the Skipper's face with his sleeve.

"Thanks, Little Buddy," the Skipper sniffled, blowing his nose loudly on Gilligan's shirt.

The Professor collected all the spilled paraphernalia from the ground outside the cave and put it all back into the knapsack. He shook his head as he studied the bottle of chloroform. "Do you realise that this can kill?" he murmured.

Gilligan blinked. "Kill?" he squeaked.

The Professor, who was sitting on his haunches, looked up at Gilligan past the glare of the sun. "Chloroform is a powerful anaesthetic. Even in the normal, accepted doses, people have been known to react badly to it and lose their lives. It's certainly not something to be used lightly."

Gilligan and Mary Ann held tightly to each other as realisation hit.

"She really was gonna kill us," Gilligan whispered.

"Oh, Gilligan!" Mary Ann choked back a sob and wiped her tears on Gilligan's other sleeve.

The Professor gathered up the spy's belongings and got to his feet. "Well, the good thing is that she didn't succeed and her communicator is broken so she can't call for any more help. Let's see what she has to say for herself when we get her back to camp."

"What if she already called for help, Professor? What if there's an invasion on the way?" the Skipper asked, worriedly.

"We'll just have to hope there isn't," the Professor said, grimly, "because there's really not much we can do besides defend ourselves the best way we can."

"We'll throw coconuts at them," Ginger sniffled, dabbing at her face with a silk handkerchief.

"Mrs. Howell and I can knock them out with a few stacks of thousand dollar bills," Mr. Howell agreed, his cheeks red from crying.

"Let's not jump the gun..." the Professor began, then stopped himself as all the castaways gasped. "Sorry," he said with a wry grin.

It was on the way back to camp that Mary Ann had suddenly collapsed against Gilligan. Before she knew it, her friend swept her up into his arms and was carrying her in much the same way as the Skipper was carrying the spy.

And this was the manner in which they returned to the huts.

While Gilligan, Ginger and the Howells took Mary Ann to the girls' hut, the Skipper and the Professor put the spy into the bamboo jail. They made sure she was laid out in the recovery position with a jug of water beside her for when she awoke.

"She ought to thank us for treating her so nicely," the Skipper growled as the Professor closed and locked the door. "I was ready to throw her into the deepest, darkest hole I could find and leave her there to rot."

"That would have made us no better than she," the Professor said gravely, "but I can't say that I blame you. The way she treated Mary Ann was atrocious!"

"Poor Mary Ann! How will we ever make it up to her?" The Skipper glared at the spy, who was already showing signs of coming round.

"How good are you at doing laundry?" the Professor replied, raising his eyebrow at the Skipper.

"Terrible!" the Skipper moaned, envisioning chores for months to come.

* * *

><p>Gilligan, Ginger and the Howells stood by Mary Ann's bedside as the farmgirl slept soundly. There was a small smile on Mary Ann's grimy face, as though she knew she could finally let herself relax.<p>

"Look at her. She's sleeping like a baby," Mrs. Howell said softly, holding tightly to her husband's arm.

Mr. Howell nodded. For once he didn't feel like making any witty comments. Instead he patted his wife's hand and gulped past the lump in his throat.

"We could have lost her," Ginger whispered, her lower lip trembling.

"We almost did," Gilligan said. "If I hadn't fallen through that hole..."

Mary Ann murmured in her sleep. She reached her arm out, scrabbling at the air with her fingers. Gillgan and Ginger both reached for the flailing hand at the same time, and both blushed as their own fingers accidentally interlocked.

"After you, Ginger," Gilligan muttered, pulling his hand back quickly.

"No, Gilligan, it's you she wants." Ginger took hold of Gilligan's hand and placed it in Mary Ann's. Immediately the farmgirl settled, the smile returning to her lips. Gilligan stood there by the bed holding Mary Ann's hand with his face going crimson while Ginger patted him knowingly on the shoulder.

* * *

><p>With 223 safely locked away and Mary Ann lost in deep slumber, the castaways gathered at the table to discuss their next move. They cleared away their uneaten lunch and the Professor laid out the contents of the spy's knapsack. The castaways pored curiously over each item.<p>

Gilligan picked up the camouflage jacket, shook it out, and pulled it on. Although it was small, it fit perfectly over his slender frame. "This is kinda neat," he declared, holding his arms out to study the mottled patches of green, beige and brown. "Hey, Skipper. I bet you can't see me."

The Skipper took his hat off and whacked Gilligan on the head. "Of course I can see you," he grumbled.

"How come? I'm camo...camoo...hidden," Gilligan protested.

"Gilligan, you're no more hidden than I am!" The Skipper said, sternly. "Now stop fooling around."

Gilligan took off the jacket and folded it back onto the table. He picked up the spy's romance novel. "Look," he grinned, holding it up for everyone to look at. "Two spies kissing."

That earned him another whack with the Skipper's hat.

"What'd I say this time?" he asked, pouting and rubbing his head.

"You're not taking this seriously!" the Skipper remarked. But then something in Gilligan's eyes made him stop. He squirmed slightly uncomfortably under the First Mate's surprisingly intense gaze.

"Skipper, you didn't find Mary Ann tied up in that cave, did you?"

"Well, no, Little Buddy, I guess I didn't."

"I know everyone thinks I'm just a goofball, but I'm taking this as seriously as I know how." Gilligan waved the romance novel in the air. "Besides, me and Mary Ann were laughing over this down at the cave. It was nice to see her laughing after what she went through. Sometimes you need to laugh, right, Skipper? Like, when crying gets too much."

The Skipper let out a huge sigh and pulled Gilligan into his arms. "You're right, Little Buddy. I'm sorry. I guess this has been a weird day for everyone."

Gilligan grinned and hugged his friend back. "It's okay, Skipper. I forgive you."

The Skipper let go of Gilligan and they looked at each other teasingly for a few moments, re-establishing the boundaries of their friendship. And then everyone turned back to the items laid out on the table.

"With the poison gone, there's nothing here that could cause us much harm besides the chloroform," the Professor concluded. "In fact, most of these items will come in very useful. The flashlight, the extra blanket, the binoculars..." the Professor held up the bunch of skeleton keys with the lock-pick attached, "...I'm sure we can even find a use for this."

"I can use the sharp end on Gilligan the next time he annoys me," the Skipper chortled.

"Can I have the jacket, Professor?" Gilligan pleaded. "Pretty please? So I can sneak up on butterflies!"

The Skipper laughed heartily. "I'm sure the butterflies will be fooled by a 'tree' creeping up on them wearing a hat and waving a butterfly net."

"We'll keep the jacket for whoever needs it," the Professor smiled.

"What about the book? Can you translate it?" Gilligan examined the picture on the cover with the book held just inches in front of his face. "These words sure look funny."

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the Cyrillic alphabet," the Professor admitted.

"I guess you don't speak Russian, either," Gilligan mused, turning the book upside down as though that would make it easier to decipher.

"Why, Gilligan?" the Skipper grinned. "Did you want to read it?"

"I thought I could read it to Mary Ann," Gilligan shrugged. "Girls like all that kissing and stuff."

"Of course," the Skipper teased. "Girls."

"Yeah," Gilligan agreed, nodding. "Girls."

"Don't forget," the Professor added, "we also now have a boat. We may not need these things at all if we can finally get ourselves rescued!"

* * *

><p>223 awoke from her dreamless sleep to find herself lying on her side in the sand. Her forehead throbbed painfully. Gingerly she reached up to touch her bruised flesh. What had happened?<p>

And then she remembered.

She had been just minutes from escape when an apple had fallen from the sky and knocked her clean out. A big, shiny red apple. And since there were no apples growing on the island, it could only have been _her _apple, taken from her knapsack.

Those wretched castaways had succeeded in bringing her down with her own piece of fruit. Nothing more than a snack she had brought along in case she got hungry.

223 struggled into a sitting position, grumbling and brushing sand from her aching arms and shoulders. Through unfocused eyes she spied what looked like a water jug standing nearby and reached for it, eagerly. She raised it to her parched lips and began to drink thirstily, grateful for the refreshing liquid, wherever it had come from.

As she gulped the water she chanced to look up over the rim of the jug and saw a group of blurry shapes on the other side of what looked like a grid of some sort. As she came back to full consciousness, her vision cleared and she saw with dismay that she was imprisoned. The grid was a door made from bamboo poles lashed together to make bars, and on the other side of those bars stood all of the castaways except Mary Ann.

223 spat the water out in disgust and threw the jug aside, spilling the rest of the water all over the ground. Curses streamed from her dripping mouth in a variety of languages that shocked the castaways even though they didn't know what she was saying. She struggled to her feet, waving her fists in the air, her eyes flashing fire. As she approached the bars she saw them all take a step back, fearful of what their prisoner might do.

All except the Professor.

"Who are you?" he asked, calmly, his arms folded over his chest with his hands tucked in under his armpits. "And what do you want from us?"

"_Gnitʹ v adu_," the spy hissed, her face right up against the bars.

"What did she say?" Gilligan asked, coming up behind the Professor and peering around his shoulder.

The Professor raised his eyebrows. "I don't know, Gilligan, but something tells me it wasn't very nice."

"We know you can speak English," the Skipper rumbled. "So cut out the cursing in your own language and tell us what the heck is going on!"

223's face contorted even further as she pressed up against the door to the jail. "_Zamolchatʹ tolstyak_!" she sneered.

"Oh yeah?" Gilligan sneered back. "Well, the same to you. With bells on!"

223 scoffed. "I am not the fat one," she spat.

"Wait a minute! Did she just call me fat?" the Skipper yelled. "Why, you...!" He launched himself at the bars, enraged.

"You would hit a woman?" the spy taunted. "Come on, fat man. Let's see how brave you are."

"Leave it, Skipper." The Professor reached for the Skipper's arm, attempting to pull him away from the bars. "This is what she wants. It's obvious she's not clever enough to realise who's in control here, and that if she supplies us with the answers we need, it will hasten her release."

223 spat onto the ground. "Release? I do not think so. Enemies do not release each other. I will never do as you wish. I will die on my feet- a soldier of my country. You can torture me all you want!" She lifted her chin and stared at them arrogantly.

"Don't think I haven't thought about it!" The Skipper roared. "You could have killed Mary Ann! What did that sweet girl ever do to you?"

"Is necessary to do what we must, Fatso," 223 snapped. "Besides, Mary Ann is not as weak as you think. She is strong. What is the word. _Resilient_. She would make good spy. As Gilligan would make good spy." She turned her attentions to the First Mate, still standing close to the Professor. "He is good at throwing everyone into a state of confusion."

"Thanks," said Gilligan. Then he frowned, puzzled. "I think."

"Don't thank her, Gilligan," the Skipper said, tersely. "Boy, if it was left to me, I'd keelhaul her from her own dinghy! Pretending to be Mary Ann like that. It's a good thing she made such a _lousy job_ of it!"

223 was stung by the Skipper's words, but she didn't show it. "Big fat talk from a big fat man," she spat, thrusting out her chin. "You will not be so sure of yourself when my comrades arrive to set me free."

"Comrades?" Mr. Howell spluttered. "You actually mean to say you have 'comrades'? Forgive me, my dear, but I see no signs of anyone coming to rescue you. I think your 'comrades' have rather left you in the lurch!"

There was a murmur of agreement from all of the castaways. 223 slumped slightly against the bars.

"They will not leave me," she said, quietly. "I am their best agent."

"_You're _their best agent?" the Skipper saw his chance to get one over on the spy. "Gee, I'd sure hate to see their worst!"

The scowling spy pointed at Gilligan. "I am best!" she snapped, defensively. "Agent who pretended to be Gilligan is worst!"

"See, Professor?" Gilligan began jumping up and down, clinging to the Professor's shoulder and practically yelling in his ear. "See? She means the guy who took the pie! I tried to tell you!"

"It's all right, Gilligan," the Professor nodded, putting his hand on the side of his head before Gilligan burst his eardrum. "Mary Ann told us everything. We're all very sorry that we didn't believe you. We should have known that you wouldn't lie about a thing like that."

"The guy who took the pie looked _exactly_ like me," Gilligan asserted, happy to have his story validated at last. "You couldn't tell us apart!"

Ginger blushed then and looked at the ground. "I think I owe you an apology, Gilligan," she whispered. "I thought it was you who tried to..."

"It's okay, Ginger. We were _all_ fooled for a little while." Gilligan gave the actress a dimpled, bashful smile. "Even me!"

Ginger did a double take as she considered how Gilligan could have been fooled into thinking that his double was really him. Then she shook her head and returned his smile, thinking it best not to ever try and figure out what went on in the First Mate's head.

"Well, I don't think it matters who's best and who's worst," said the Professor, re-addressing the spy. "You're our prisoner now, and no-one is coming to save you. Your communicator was destroyed when it fell into the sea. Your 'comrades' aren't going to waste their valuable time and resources saving one agent from an unknown situation, especially an agent who has failed as spectacularly as you have." The Professor turned to the Skipper. "Agreed?"

"Most undoubtedly," the Skipper nodded, stony faced. "If they were coming then they'd be here by now."

"Hear, hear!" added Mr. Howell.

The Professor stared intently at the spy. "Not only have they left you behind, why, right this minute they're probably removing all traces of you from their records and have already found someone to replace you."

223 turned away from the bars and began to pace up and down. She moved like a caged panther, her face set into a grimace worthy of any stone gargoyle. "Shut up," she muttered. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

"What's more," the Professor continued, "_two_ missions to this island have now failed. I doubt that your people are going to waste any more money attempting another. Wouldn't that just make them look foolish beyond words? Seven stranded castaways who never did any harm to anyone, getting the better of you time and time again. No, I think you are the very last person they are going to send here to spy on us, and I don't think they are ever coming back."

223 glared at him ferociously, her eyes glittering like shards of broken glass.

The Skipper smiled sweetly and approached the bars. He tipped his hat at the snarling spy and put on his best redneck drawl. "Looks to me like you're about to become an honorary American, little missy."

223 ran at the bars and hurled herself against them so hard that they rattled. "You are lying!" she screeched. "They will be here! They will not leave me at the hands of our enemy!"

"The clock's ticking," the Skipper smiled. "And it looks to me as though they already have."

223 gripped the bars and shook them viciously, glaring furiously at each castaway in turn. "I refuse to believe you!" she shouted, but her heart was already sinking. For it _was_ true. The Commandant had not lied. No-one had come to save her. No-one was coming to save her. Her half-hour window was long gone.

222 and the Commandant were long gone, and with them, all hope of rescue.

223's rage fizzled and spluttered and finally extinguished like a spent firework. She turned her back on them all and slid down the bars until she was sitting on her backside in the sand with her dirty legs spread out in front of her. She stared helplessly at the far wall of the cave. Her eyes stung with helpless tears.

Now she was truly on her own.

A castaway, just like the rest of them.

* * *

><p>Two miles down the coast, a lone sandpiper scurried happily in and out of the gently breaking waves, dabbing at the wet sand with its beak as it forayed for small crabs to eat. It looked up, startled, as the waves suddenly began to part, and then took off with its little wings beating furiously as a strange creature slowly began to emerge from the water.<p>

As it staggered further out of the sea, it became apparent that the strange creature was in actual fact a man. A man wearing a red rugby shirt and jeans which clung tightly to every sopping wet contour of his slight, slender body. In the back pocket of his jeans was a rolled up white sailor hat, and on his feet he wore battered white sneakers that had seen far better days. His black hair lay plastered to his head, gleaming wetly in the sunshine. His features were mostly hidden behind a scuba mask, but there was no mistaking the blue-green eyes that shone with a fierce determination under darkly drawn brows. As the man crawled out of the sea he spat out the mouthpiece of the single oxygen tank he wore strapped to his back and wiped his mouth roughly on one wet sleeve.

Gasping with exertion, the man dropped to his knees and dragged himself up the beach like a turtle. He made it just a little way and then fell onto his stomach, lying there with his eyes closed as the waves lapped gently around his legs. Every single muscle in his body hurt. Every bone sang and every sinew twitched. His head throbbed and his ears rang and his teeth ached, and he knew that he was very lucky to be alive.

Shooting oneself out of a torpedo tube was not to be recommended, Agent 222 decided. But any means of escape from the Commandant's fury was better than no escape at all.


	20. Interlude

_This is a quieter chapter than the others. A 'bridging chapter', if you will. A chance for MA/G to regroup and reflect, which I think is important for them after what they've been through. Bear with me, dear reader- spy shenanigans will resume ASAP :)_

* * *

><p>Mary Ann awoke from her slumber to find Gilligan sitting patiently by her bed. The red of his shirt and the white of his hat swam into focus along with the familiar surroundings of her hut as she yawned and blinked her tired eyes.<p>

"Hi," he smiled, showing a dimple in his left cheek.

"Gilligan," she murmured, smiling back at him. "How long have you been there?"

"Oh, not long." He didn't want to tell her it had been nearly two hours.

Mary Ann tried to sit up, but Gilligan put his hand on her shoulder and pressed her gently back down into the bed.

"Professor left me in charge while they went to look at the boat, and he told me to make sure you rested," he said, wagging his finger at her when she frowned.

"I _am_ rested," she replied. "I must have been asleep for hours! Besides, I'm dirty and I need a shower."

"Okay," Gilligan conceded. "But Professor says you're not to do any work today, so don't go try making dinner, either."

"Gilligan, it's wonderful that everyone cares, but the sooner I get back to normal, the...oh!" Mary Ann tried to sit up again and suddenly went dizzy. "My head is spinning!"

"You see? You're still tired. You need more rest."

"I'm sure even Rip Van Winkle didn't need _this_ much rest," Mary Ann complained, but nevertheless she sank back onto the pillows and pulled the blanket up around her chin, letting the warmth and softness of her own bed envelop her. What a difference this was from the cold, hard ground inside that horrid cave!

A few moments of companionable silence passed and then Gilligan spoke again. His voice was low and hesitant.

"Mary Ann, seeing as we're alone...can we talk?"

Mary Ann turned her head on the pillow and peered at him curiously. "Of course we can talk, Gilligan. What do you want to talk about?"

"Well," Gilligan shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, folded and unfolded his arms, scratched the back of his neck, frowned, pursed his lips, and finally settled on a slightly self-conscious pose with his knees pressed tightly together and his hands interlocked tightly between them. He took a deep breath before continuing. "Yesterday, when I thought the spy was you, she did a couple things that made me...well, that I didn't like. I got angry and ran away, but she followed me, and..." he shifted again, and looked away at the ground. "She told me she wanted to make me jealous."

Mary Ann's eyes widened. "Jealous? Of what, Gilligan?"

Gilligan chewed on his bottom lip before answering. He was still looking at the ground. "I guess, of the way she was acting towards Skipper and the Professor. As if she liked 'em better than she liked me."

Mary Ann was horrified. "That's outrageous!" she spluttered. "Why would she want to make you jealous? Why would she even _consider_ that you would get jealous? It sounds as if she was just trying to cover up another one of her many mistakes. "

"But I _did_ get jealous!" Gilligan said, plaintively. "And then she asked me, if we were such good friends, how come we weren't married? Me and her. I mean, her and me. I mean, her and you. I mean, _me and you_. She was being real pushy trying to get me to talk. She made me start thinking about things I don't like to think about. Things that I _try_ not to think about, because they're so big they make my head hurt."

Sensing that Gilligan was about to start panicking, Mary Ann reached for his clasped hands and gently separated them. She threaded her fingers through his and squeezed them reassuringly. "But that wasn't me, Gilligan," she said, softly. "You know that I would never do anything like that."

"I know you wouldn't!" he agreed. "That's what made me suspicious! But even so, Mary Ann. Even though it wasn't you, she still made me think about those things." Gilligan lifted his eyes from the ground and looked at her. "And then, when I saw you in that cave, how you could have nearly almost _died_, I couldn't _stop_ thinking about...those things."

Mary Ann couldn't help smiling at the way he kept saying 'those things', as though whatever things they were, they were big, scary, grown-up things that stopped him from being his usual, carefree self if he let them intrude too much.

"Gilligan," she began, gently. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Gilligan nodded, mutely.

"And we'll always be friends, won't we?"

He nodded again, more enthusiastically this time. "I sure hope so," he said.

"Then let me tell you something, Gilligan." Mary Ann smiled and squeezed his hand again, running her thumb gently over his bony knuckles. "I've liked you from the first day we met. From the day we set out on the Minnow and you were running around as though being First Mate of a two man charter vessel was the most important job in the world. You were so happy that day. They say that first impressions count, and my first impression of you was of someone who made the very best of everything that came his way, whether good or bad, happy or sad. You struck me as someone who really cared, and I could see right away how much you adored the Skipper. And I remember thinking how lucky I would be if I had someone like you in my life. Someone who put his all into everything, no matter what. Someone who greeted each day with a smile and always had a good word for his friends. And then look what happened."

Gilligan stared at her, wide-eyed. "Look what happened? We got shipwrecked is what happened!"

"Yes," Mary Ann laughed. "And I got my wish!"

Gilligan looked puzzled. "I don't understand."

"Don't you see? I wanted someone like you in my life, Gilligan. And I got what I wanted. In fact, I got better than I wanted. I got _you_."

"Only because of an accident," Gilligan said, sticking out his lower lip.

"Accident?" Mary Ann smiled. "Or fate?"

Gilligan thought about that for a moment. "You believe in fate?" he asked. "I know Skipper does. He's superstitious like that."

"Well," Mary Ann replied, "I know that sometimes when we look back on certain events, they can appear to have been more than just coincidence."

"Now you're talking in riddles," Gilligan said, his puzzled look returning.

"Oh, Gilligan!" Mary Ann laughed again. "In simple terms, I _like _you. I like you a lot. And whatever those things are that you don't like to think about, I can assure you that I won't ever stop liking you. No matter how long I have to..." she stopped suddenly, realising she had almost said too much.

"How long you have to what?" Gilligan asked, curiously.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"No, Mary Ann, what were you going to say?"

Gilligan had that determined look now, and Mary Ann knew he wasn't going to give up until she told him what had been on her lips.

"No matter how long I have to wait," she sighed.

"For what?" he asked, bewildered.

"For you to feel the same way," she admitted at last.

Gilligan shuffled nervously on the chair. His fingers turned and twisted inside Mary Ann's as he tried out half a dozen new positions before settling into exactly the same one as before.

"Those are the things I don't like to think about," he confessed. "The things that hurt my head."

"But you do think about them, don't you?" she asked, a trace of hope in her voice.

He nodded. "I think about them a lot. Even when I don't want to. And even more since yesterday."

Mary Ann met his gaze and returned it with solemnity. "Don't let those thoughts scare you, Gilligan," she said softly. "You know I would never, ever do anything to hurt you. Besides, sometimes I have some pretty scary thoughts myself. Did you ever think of that?"

Gilligan smiled. He looked slightly sheepish. "I guess not," he said. "I guess I'm always too busy thinking of my own."

Mary Ann tugged on Gilligan's hand, just enough so that he could feel it. He looked down at both of their hands, then he looked directly into her eyes.

"I think I liked you on that first day too, Mary Ann," he said, his voice so low that it was almost a whisper. "I guess I just never realised how much, until I almost lost you."

Mary Ann's eyes lingered on his a moment, then she let her gaze fall to his lips.

"Gilligan..." she began.

But somehow Gilligan already knew. He leaned forward over the bed and kissed her softly on the mouth, letting his lips rest against hers for as long as it took for both of their hearts to start beating rapidly. He drew back slowly into a sitting position, his face flushed with embarrassment mixed with pride at having been so bold.

"Gilligan!" Mary Ann smiled, delighted. "What made you do that?"

He blinked. "You wanted me to," he asserted, shyly. "Didn't you?"

She blushed and lowered her eyelids. "Yes, Gilligan, I did," she admitted.

"Gee," he grinned, pushing his hat to the back of his head in relief. "I got something right, at last!"

* * *

><p>Agent 222 peered through the bushes surrounding the campsite. He was not in the best of moods. Never in his worst nightmares had he envisaged himself returning to this wretched place and confronting these aggravating castaways ever again. He had hoped for the return of his old face, his old life, spying for his country in much more glamorous locations than this! Paris, Rome, Budapest, places where the people were used to dastardly, underhand behaviour and even practised it themselves. Places where he could play his nefarious games and match his wits against theirs. Not this place, where everything could be turned on its head by one man, and one man alone.<p>

One man called _Gilligan_.

It was bad enough having to live for the rest of his life with Gilligan's face, but having to see him again in person was making 222's blood pressure rise by the minute. He sank further into the bushes as Gilligan and Mary Ann emerged from the girls' hut with bright, happy smiles on their faces.

"How sweet. But you will not be smiling for much longer," he muttered, half to himself, and half to the two youngest castaways as they stood close together outside the hut.

"I'll be all right now, Gilligan," Mary Ann said. She lifted her hand and rubbed his arm and 222 saw the red marks on her wrist. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what torture his over-zealous colleague had put the girl through.

"Are you sure?" Gilligan replied.

The boy was clearly reluctant to leave her, 222 decided.

"Yes, I'm sure. I intend to take a shower and get changed into fresh clothes, that's all. I promise I won't exert myself."

"Don't try to do too much, either," Gilligan told her, firmly.

222 shook his head in exasperation as he remembered how simple, and yet how difficult it had been to imitate this strangely innocent, gangly young man.

"I won't," said Mary Ann. "You go on down to the beach and see what the others are doing. I'll be fine."

"Okay," Gilligan conceded. "But don't leave the huts until we come back, okay?"

"Okay," Mary Ann nodded. "I promise."

With that, Gilligan gave the girl a hug, pulling her into his arms as though his life depended on it. 222 watched with raised eyebrows as Mary Ann hugged him back, burying her face in his neck. Then the two youngest castaways parted and Gilligan began walking backwards, never taking his eyes off Mary Ann, waving and grinning at her until he reached the end of the clearing and finally turned onto the jungle path that led down to the beach. Mary Ann waved back, laughing and smiling until he was gone, and then she shook her head fondly and went back into the hut, re-emerging moments later with a towel and a fresh set of clothes.

_Good,_ thought 222. _The place will soon be empty. I have time. And if I don't have time- I must _make_ time._

Mary Ann turned the corner past the Howells' hut and was gone. The campsite was quiet except for the sound of birds and the late afternoon breeze rustling through palm fronds. 222 pursed his lips and took a deep breath. Then he came out of the bushes and ran, crouched over and stealthy like a fox, to the open door of the Supply Hut.


	21. Double Trouble

The first thing 222 spotted inside the Supply Hut was 223's knapsack lying on the table. He emptied it out and inspected the contents. He flicked the flashlight on and off, pleased to see that it was still working. Then he examined the bottle of chloroform, noticing with a frown that there was a lot more missing than there should have been.

"What was she doing, taking a bath in this?" he wondered aloud.

He set the bottle down and picked up the binoculars, using them to scan around the room. He jumped in shock when a tiny, harmless spider on the wall became a fearsome, eight-legged monster with glowing yellow eyes. He let out an expletive in Russian and almost dropped them in his haste to return them to the table.

"Even the insects here are frightening," he gasped, patting his chest.

He rolled up the blanket and strapped it to the bottom of the knapsack. He lifted the camouflage jacket and admired it for a moment, imagining it clinging to 223's slender arms and shapely body. Then he noticed the romance novel underneath and picked it up, smiling at the cover illustration.

"'_Comrades in Arms_'," he muttered, reading the title. He began to leaf through it. "_'Agent 757 pulled her roughly into his arms and laughed coldly into her face. 'You cannot deny that you have always loved me. From the moment your icy eyes met mine you have longed for my dangerous embrace'_."

222's eyes widened as he read further, then he flipped to the next page and his grin broadened. "_'Agent 636 fell back onto the silken sheets. Flames of wanton desire burned through her beautiful but deadly body. 'Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?' she whispered_.'"

222 read the next couple of pages, blinking at the vivid mental images they conjured up. Then he closed the book and returned it to the table with a silly smile plastered to his face. "_Now_ I understand!" he chuckled to himself.

Finally he noticed the set of skeleton keys with the lockpick attached and everything else was forgotten. With a smile of satisfaction, he shoved them deep into his front pocket. He then pushed everything else back into the knapsack and slung it over his shoulder.

He turned to leave the Supply Hut and stopped dead. The smug smile froze on his lips, slowly melting into a look of slack-jawed confusion.

Mary Ann was standing in the doorway, watching him.

"M-Mary Ann!" he uttered, quickly employing Gilligan's higher-pitched voice. He hadn't used it in a long time and the tightening of his vocal chords made him cough. He thumped his chest and cleared his throat. "Wh-what are you doing back here already?"

Mary Ann wandered in and stood just inside the door. "The soap ran out," she replied. "Ginger must have used it all."

222 edged around so that she wouldn't see the knapsack on his shoulder. "Well, why don't you just get some more?"

"I'm not going through all that again. I managed to get clean enough."

"But don't you want to get all nice and lathery?" 222 continued to circle as Mary Ann walked further into the hut.

"Chance would be a fine thing," Mary Ann smiled. "One day I'll manage to get to the shower before Ginger does, and then _I'll_ use up all the soap and see how _she_ feels!"

222 shrugged. "Okay then. If you're sure you're clean enough."

Mary Ann put her hands on her hips. "Are you saying I'm still dirty?"

"No! No," 222 swallowed quickly. "You look great! But I like you anyway. Even when you're dirty." He trailed off with a nervous giggle that wasn't entirely an act.

Mary Ann approached him curiously. "What about you? I thought you went down to the beach." She put her hand out and touched his sleeve. "Why are your clothes damp?"

222 clutched at the most ridiculous thing he could think of. "Well, what happened was, see...I tripped over a palm frond and fell in the water. Then when I got out of the water I tripped over another palm frond and fell on the Skipper, and the Skipper fell on the Professor, and the Professor fell on Mr. Howell, and Mr. Howell fell on Mrs. Howell, and Mrs. Howell fell on Ginger, and they went down like a bunch of dominoes. So they told me to get back here where I wouldn't cause any more trouble. And besides," he added for bonus points, "I really didn't want to leave you here all by yourself." He beamed at Mary Ann, proud of himself for having fabricated such a wild chain of events in such a short space of time.

"Oh, Gilligan!" Mary Ann giggled. "You're incorrigible!"

"Thanks," 222 said, grinning.

"But why are you carrying the spy's knapsack?" Mary Ann said, trying to peer around his shoulder.

222 cursed inwardly. This girl had become far too vigilant! "I, um...I thought it would be neat to go play at being a spy in the forest," he said. "So the next time a spy comes, I'll be prepared." He narrowed his eyes and made karate chopping motions with his hands. "We need to look out for spies, Mary Ann. They're so cunning and clever and sneaky, you never know where they're gonna turn up next."

"Sneaky, yes," Mary Ann frowned. "Cunning, most certainly. But clever? Not this one. No wonder her people left her behind. I'm glad we caught her and put her in jail, but what on earth are we going to _do _with her? We can't keep her locked up forever!"

"I know!" 222 said, snapping his fingers. "Let's take her some water and get her to talk! I can practise my spy techniques. Think how impressed the others would be if we got her to tell us everything while they were down at the beach playing with a boat!"

"Oh, Gilligan, I don't know," Mary Ann said, worriedly. "I doubt she'll talk to us, but I guess even a spy needs water, especially in this heat."

222 was already at the rain barrel in the corner, excitedly spooning water into a gourd. "It's the humane thing to do, Mary Ann," he nodded. "Anyways, it won't take long. It might even be fun!"

"I'm not sure it'll be fun," Mary Ann sighed, "but I admit I am curious to see her. I wonder if the apple I threw left any lasting damage?"

222 blinked. _The apple she threw?_ He carried on filling the gourd, deciding it was best not to ask.

222 and Mary Ann set off down the path towards the bamboo jail. Mary Ann seemed quite relaxed in his company, chatting away about the events of the last two days and how glad she was to be out of 'that cave'. 222 listened intently, storing away all the information he needed. He wasn't happy that 223 had put the girl through such hell, but that was only because _he_ knew the castaways weren't the enemy. No-one had ever believed him about that, and this poor, innocent farm girl had suffered for it.

But that was the nature of the spy business. Feelings were not allowed to get in the way.

Somehow though, 222 couldn't help liking this girl. Not only was she the original template for 223's stunning new looks, she was just as he remembered- bright, bubbly, and harmless. He doubted she would even kill a fly. As she chatted away to him, thinking he was Gilligan, he almost began to feel envious of the boy.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Gilligan himself was already returning. He really had not wanted to leave Mary Ann on her own, and the more he thought about her being at the huts by herself, the more his anxiety built and built until it became a nagging doubt that clawed at the back of his mind and wouldn't let go. He spun on his heels at the very end of the path and hurriedly began retracing his steps back to camp. By the time the huts were in sight, he was running.<p>

He came around the side of the hut he shared with the Skipper just in time to see 222 and Mary Ann disappearing into the trees. He ducked down, grabbing onto the hut to steady himself. At first he couldn't believe his eyes- he thought he was seeing things. And then his jaw dropped as he came to the horrifying realisation that his doubt had been completely justified.

"The guy who took the pie!" he uttered, hoarsely. "The guy who looks exactly like me! He's _back_!"

* * *

><p>222 and Mary Ann stood outside the bamboo jail while 223 glowered at them from within the gloom.<p>

"You have come to laugh at me, I suppose," she muttered, icily.

"If I wanted to laugh at somebody I'd laugh at the Skipper," 222 replied in Gilligan's voice. "We came here to get you to talk! Oh- and to give you this." He tried to cram the gourd through the bars, slopping water everywhere.

"_Dumbkov_!" 223 snarled. "It is too fat to fit! Just like your precious Skipper."

"Hey!" Mary Ann cried. "Don't you make fat jokes about the Skipper!"

"No, that's my job!" 222 protested. "But she's right- it _is_ too fat to fit." He attempted to push the gourd through the bars one more time and then gave up. "Guess I'll just have to open the door," he said, reaching into his pocket.

Mary Ann did a double take. "Gilligan! No! You're not going to open the door!"

"Relax, Mary Ann. I'm just gonna give her the water." 222 pulled out the skeleton keys and began fitting them into the lock one by one. He worked clumsily, as he imagined Gilligan would.

223 came over and stood at the door. She studied him with renewed interest, like a cat watching a mouse.

"Gilligan, those aren't the right keys!" Mary Ann said, peering into his hands.

222 turned his back to her and kept trying. "Yes, they are," he said, assertively. "I found them on the Professor's table."

"No, they aren't! I know what the jail key looks like!" Mary Ann grabbed 222's arm and tried to pull him away, but he shrugged her off as though she were a minor inconvenience.

"What is he doing now?" 223 laughed derisively. "Did you miss me so much, Gilligan, that you have come to set me free?"

222 stuck the lockpick into the lock, twiddled it this way and that, and finally heard the tumblers roll back. He stood for a moment, his mouth dry, his heart hammering in his chest.

It was now or never.

"In a manner of speaking," he said, calmly, "_Da_."

223's eyes met with his and realisation dawned. "_You_!" she hissed, her mouth falling open.

222 yanked the door open, grabbed Mary Ann by the arm and swung her around and into the jail. At the same time he reached for 223's arm and pulled her towards him, out of the cell. Both girls cried out in confusion as the spy moved so swiftly they barely had time to think.

And then there was another sudden commotion as Gilligan himself came flying out of the bushes and shoved 222 hard in the middle of his back. 222 collided with Mary Ann inside the cell and Gilligan grabbed 223's arm and pulled her out.

Then he slammed the jail door shut.

"Gotcha!" he yelled, triumphantly. "Thought you could outsmart us, huh? Come on, Mary Ann, let's go tell the others we...oh."

Gilligan noticed Mary Ann staring at him from behind the bars and realised his mistake.

223 meanwhile, was trying to make a desperate break for freedom. "Let...me..._go_!" she hissed, struggling to break free of his grip.

"You should be in there!" Gilligan said, grabbing onto her with both hands before she escaped.

"And I should be out there!" said Mary Ann indignantly, from inside the jail cell.

"And I should be anywhere else but here," 222 lamented, mournfully.

Mary Ann turned and stared at 222. "I should have known!" she exclaimed. "Gilligan's evil double!"

"Hey, not so much with the 'evil'!" 222 protested.

"Why, if I weren't raised to be polite, I'd slap you right across your smirking face," Mary Ann muttered. "Making me think you were Gilligan like that. Making us _all _think you were Gilligan!"

222 smiled. "I like a woman with fire," he said.

"Don't tempt me," Mary Ann retorted, folding her arms and shooting him a look of pure disdain.

Outside the jail cell, Gilligan continued to hold the struggling 223 tightly with one arm while he picked at the lock with the other.

"Turn it a little more to the left," 222 offered.

"I'm trying!" Gilligan panted. "It's not easy doing it with one hand!"

222 approached the bars and glared at his wayward comrade. "223!" he said, in his lowest, most threatening tone. "_Vedite sebya prilichno, ili budet beda_!"

223 stopped struggling. "_YA ne slushayu vas_," she muttered, but the fury was already wavering in her eyes. She stood quietly while Gilligan continued fumbling with the lock.

"What did you tell her?" asked Mary Ann, incredulously.

"I told her if she does not behave, there will be no kissing for her," he grinned, mischievously.

223's eyes bulged in horror. "_Vy svinʹi. Vy ne govorite pravdu_!" she screeched, her face mottled with renewed rage.

"I am a pig who does not tell the truth," he translated, before Mary Ann had the chance to ask him.

"It certainly is an interesting language," the farm girl concluded.

223 continued to berate her grinning comrade in Russian while they waited for Gilligan to finish picking the lock.

The lock clicked open at last.

"Okay, everybody just stay where you are." Gilligan eased 223 around in front of him and began to pull the door open. "It's okay, I've done this before," he said, trying to appear confident.

"You have thrown everybody in jail before?" 222 asked, his eyebrows raised.

"As a matter of fact, he has," Mary Ann replied- adding, "don't ask," with a sideways glance up at the spy.

Gilligan pulled the door open. He shoved 223 inside. 223 grabbed hold of 222 and spun him around, pushing him into Gilligan with a thump that knocked the wind out of his lungs. The door slammed shut again. This time the women were in jail and the men were on the outside.

"Oh," Gilligan sighed. "I goofed again."

"That one was not your fault," 222 said, standing next to him like the twin from Hell. "223, why did you do that?"

"Because you are a pig and I do not wish to be anywhere near you," 223 pouted, jutting her chin defiantly into the air.

Mary Ann put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. "Now this really is getting ridiculous!" she huffed, impatiently.

"Uh-oh," said Gilligan, nudging 222 in the ribs. "Mary Ann's getting that look."

223 mirrored Mary Ann and adopted an identical pose. Soon both women were staring out of the jail with their hands on their hips. They would have been indistinguishable from one another, except that 223 was dirty and Mary Ann was clean.

"You know what, Gilligan?" said 222, "maybe we should both make a break for it."

"Don't even think about it, Gilligan," said Mary Ann, just in case Gilligan was actually considering the suggestion.

Gilligan picked the lock and reopened the door. "This time we're getting it right!" he announced. He looked at Mary Ann and held his hand out expectantly. "Not you," he said to 223, who was also edging closer. "You stay where you are!"

In the very next moment, the crucial moment that hung suspended like a drop of water on the end of an icicle, the moment between the tick and the tock that defined every single moment that followed hence, 222 darted sideways, leaned past Gilligan, grasped 223 by the arm and yanked her out of the jail. Using his other elbow he nudged Gilligan with just enough force so that the First Mate had no chance to regain his footing before the door was firmly shut and locked behind him.

"No!" cried Mary Ann, her arms going around Gilligan as he stumbled towards her. "_No_! This isn't _fair_!"

"Nothing is fair," 222 said, pocketing the keys. He stood on the outside of the bars with 223's hand held tightly in his, lest she try to get away from him, too. "But you do not need to worry. This is just a temporary measure. I did not come here to cause harm or trouble, only to collect my fallen comrade and leave this island forever."

"Let us out!" Mary Ann shouted. "How could you? We've never done anything to either of you. Why, we fed you, and looked after you, and gave you our beds to sleep in. And this is how you repay us!"

222 came right up to the bars and looked in. His expression softened and became almost like one of Gilligan's.

"I know this," he said, quietly. "I have told my people there is nothing to fear from this place. We will not be back, I assure you." His blue-green eyes bored into Mary Ann's brown eyes. A warm flush rose up her neck and Gilligan came over and stood next to her, fixing the spy with a glare of warning.

"As for the food, and the comfort, and the hospitality, it is something we are going to miss," 222 continued. "Do not think I have forgotten your coconut crème pies, Mary Ann Summers. I cannot find anything like them in all of Soviet Russia. Is enough to drive a man _bezumnyĭ!_" He circled his finger at the side of his head and winked.

Mary Ann pierced 222 with her best indignant glare. "Am I meant to take that as a compliment, you...you...masquerading pie-thief?"

"Of course!" A dimple just like Gilligan's flashed in 222's left cheek. "It was meant entirely so. But now, I regret to say, we must be going." He kissed his fingertips and blew the kiss towards Mary Ann and Gilligan. "It was very nice to meet you. I am sorry that the feeling was not mutual."

"I'll say it wasn't!" Mary Ann muttered, frostily, but the spy had already stopped listening.

"Au revoir!" called 223 over her shoulder as 222 began running down the path, still holding tightly to her hand, forcing her to run as fast as she could on her much shorter legs or fall flat on her face in the dust.

Mary Ann and Gilligan stood together at the bars and watched the two spies disappear into the jungle, leaving nothing but empty air and a few fluttering leaves behind them. Still in a state of semi disbelief, they turned their heads at exactly the same time and stared at each other in open-mouthed amazement.

And then they began to yell for help.

Loudly.


	22. Endgame

222 and 223 flew through the jungle, darting in and out of the trees like the furtive creatures that they were. 222 gripped 223's hand tightly and she struggled to break free as they ran.

"I do not need my hand held," she complained, her voice rising childishly.

"_Da_, you do," 222 responded, curtly. "We cannot afford to become separated."

223 almost went flying over a boulder as her comrade pulled her around a tight corner and onto another path. "I do not think there is any chance of that," she muttered frostily as she regained her footing.

Midway down the new path they heard familiar voices approaching, and then they saw shapes and colours moving in between the trees. Pale blue, darker blue and khaki.

The Skipper and the Professor were on their way.

"_Vot der'mo_!" 222 came to an abrupt halt. 223 crashed into him and uttered an even bluer curse. He pushed her unceremoniously into the bushes and they ducked behind a tree as the castaways approached. In the distance they could still hear Mary Ann and Gilligan yelling for help.

223 tugged at the knapsack still hanging from 222's shoulder. "You have chloroform! Why you did not drug them?" she snapped angrily.

222 fixed her with a hard stare. "There has been enough drugging, I think," he muttered.

"Phooey!" 223 spat. "We should have kept them quiet!"

"I keep you quiet," 222 scowled. He clamped his hand tightly over her mouth and pulled her close to stop her struggling.

223 stood as still as a statue, pressed up against 222 behind the tree, her big brown eyes darting from side to side. She felt his heart pounding against her shoulderblade and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed hotly down her neck.

They listened to the voices of the Professor and the Skipper passing by their hiding place. The castaways were so near that 222 thought he could reach out and touch them. He molded himself to the tree, his arms so tightly around 223 that she thought she might die from asphyxiation.

The Professor and the Skipper hurried away up the path. As soon the coast was clear, 223 started to struggle again, pulling at the hand clamped roughly over her mouth. When 222 finally let go, she turned around, raised her arm and slapped him soundly across the face.

"_That_ is for thinking you are better than me!" she spat, watching with satisfaction as the side of his face turned pink.

222 blinked as bright lights danced in front of his eyes. His cheek smarted as though stung by a thousand bees. He worked his jaw side to side, amazed that she hadn't broken it with the force of her slap. He didn't know whether to be outraged or impressed.

But before he even had time to think, 223 grabbed him by the head, pulled his face around to hers and kissed him, hard. She crushed her lips to his as though he were the last man on Earth. His hands flailed either side of her as his brain raced to catch up with what was happening. It was not so much a kiss as a full frontal attack on his face.

She kissed him fiercely for several long, blissful moments, and then their mouths came apart with a loud smack.

"And _that _is for coming to my rescue," 223 breathed, her voice low and sultry, and a little bit hoarse.

222 stared at her in amazement. Then his tingling lips stretched into a knowing smirk.

"I like both," he grinned, smugly.

"Hmph," 223 acknowledged his smirk with a small smile of her own. "Do not get too complacent. As soon as we are back on the submarine, you will not see me again. I will..."

"Ah, but there is no submarine, _moĭ dorogoĭ_," said 222, sweetly. "I came here alone. It is just me."

The blood drained from 223's face and she turned white. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

"You are surprised?" 222 smiled mockingly. "They have left without you. I almost did too, but I knew I could not leave you here alone."

Finally 223 found her voice. It came out as a resigned moan. "It is true, then. The Commandant was not lying. They have gone without me." Her head dropped and she stared at the ground for a moment before lifting her eyes back to his. "But how? How did you get here without a boat?"

222 plucked up the courage to brush a strand of hair away from her face, ignoring the fact that she flinched, putting it down to reflexes. "I pretended to be ill. I told the Commandant I was going to Sickbay but instead I went to torpedo bay. They were not happy to see me. There was a struggle, but I managed to overpower them."

"_You_?" 223 snorted, plucking at his sleeve.

"Size is not everything," he said, lifting one eyebrow. "I told them it would be better for everyone if they acted like I had never been there in the first place. And then I picked up an oxygen tank and ordered them to fire me out of the torpedo tube."

"You lie!" 223's eyes widened. "You cannot launch from a torpedo tube! You would be killed instantly!"

222 took off his hat and tapped the side of his head. "Ordinarily, _da_," he grinned. "But when they gave me Gilligan's face, they also gave me his head. Is impossible to break!"

223 stared at him in disbelief and astonishment. "You are like cat with nine lives," she said, her voice tinged with a grudging admiration. "Just like Gilligan!"

"You also know that if we had returned home, we would have been banished to Siberia," 222 continued, his voice softening. "Is better this way, because now we are free."

"Free?" 223 said, raising her hands palm upwards. "Free to do what? As long as we are on this island we are still in danger!"

"Exactly." 222 put his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her rising panic. "That is why we must hurry. We will take the boat and leave before they find us. And then? The world will be our oyster."

"I do not like oysters," 223 muttered sulkily.

"You will learn to like them," 222 smiled. "The same as you will learn to like me. For are we not _'comrades in arms_'?"

And then 222 pulled 223 into his arms and kissed her again, long and sensuously, and this time the feeling was mutual.

* * *

><p>The Professor and the Skipper reached the bamboo jail to find Mary Ann and Gilligan shaking the bars madly, their faces red with humiliation.<p>

"Oh, Skipper, Professor, thank goodness! Please get us out of here!" Mary Ann cried.

The Professor ran immediately to the door. "There's no key!" he shouted in frustration.

"He used the lockpick!" Mary Ann cried. "The one from the knapsack!"

"'_He'_?" said the Skipper, alarmed.

"The guy who took the pie!" Gilligan said, excitedly. "He came back for her!"

"_What_?" the Skipper yelled.

"It's true, I saw him too! But he's on his own," Mary Ann interjected quickly. "He doesn't want to hurt anybody!"

"Well, I'd sure like to hurt _him,_" the Skipper growled, punching a fist into his other hand. "That dirty, double-dealing, no-good...!"

"Skipper, save your anger. We need the key," the Professor said. "Would you go back to the hut and get me the key?"

The Skipper bent down and picked up the nearest and biggest rock he could find. "To hell with the keys," he grumbled, and promptly smashed the lock into little pieces.

The door swung open and Gilligan and Mary Ann tumbled outwards in a heap.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Gilligan said. He took the rock from the Skipper's hands but it was so heavy that he fell on the ground with his hands trapped underneath it. "_That's_ why I didn't think of that," he muttered, removing his smarting fingers and clambering to his feet.

Suddenly the Skipper's mouth fell open. "We left Ginger and the Howells at the beach! What if they encounter those spies?"

And then the Professor's mouth fell open too. "The boat? What if the spies take the boat?"

All four castaways sprang into action at the same time. There was a moment of confusion where they all scattered in different directions, bumping into one another repeatedly. Then they found their bearings at last and began running.

"To the beach, everyone!" the Skipper cried, as everyone else began overtaking him. "To the beach! Hey, _wait for me_!"

* * *

><p>222 held fast to 223's hand as they slunk out of the trees, glancing this way and that, ready to continue their bid for freedom. Soon they were hurtling down the path faster than ever before as the cries of the approaching castaways began ringing in their ears.<p>

As they flew off the jungle path and onto the beach, they almost collided with Ginger and the Howells.

"Gilligan, watch where you're going!" Ginger put her hands out to steady herself as she teetered on her high heels in the sand.

"Get out of my way," 222 shouted. He didn't even bother to disguise his own voice any more as the voice of the real Gilligan was already sounding behind them in the distance.

"Good grief!" Mr. Howell declared, his voice booming with indignation. "That's _not _Gilligan!"

"And that's not Mary Ann, either!" said Mrs. Howell. "She doesn't have those nasty marks on her wrists!"

Ginger and 222 glared unblinkingly at each other, and then Ginger gasped as the realization dawned. "_You_!" she cried, fixing him with icy green eyes. "How dare you show your face here again, after what you did the last time!"

"I said _move_," 222 snarled, his brow furrowing as he edged towards her.

Ginger planted herself immediately into his path and drew herself up to her full, majestic height. "I will not be moved!" she announced, flicking her red hair defiantly.

"I warn you, if you do not obey me, there will be trouble!" 222 edged around the movie star with 223 crouched behind him, using him as a shield.

"You want trouble? I'll give you trouble!" Ginger stepped forward and dealt 222 a ringing slap across the face. "_That's_ for making me think that Gilligan was in love with me!"

There was a collective intake of breath from 223 and the Howells. 222 blinked dazedly as his jaw throbbed and the dancing lights began flashing in front of his eyes once more. He waited in stunned silence for a moment or two, but nothing more happened.

"I suppose a kiss is out of the question?" he asked, hopefully.

Ginger promptly slapped him again.

"Enough!" 223 cried, stepping in front of 222 and glaring at Ginger. "Keep your hands off my man! You Hollywood actresses are all the same!"

"What!" Ginger flustered. "Why, I wouldn't touch your_ man_ if he came begging to me over...over _broken glass_!"

"He does not need to beg," 223 glowered. "Especially from the likes of you!"

222 and Mr. Howell looked from one furious woman to the other as though they were watching a tennis match.

"I always have this problem," 222 told the millionaire with a debonair grin.

"My boy, I wouldn't exactly call it a problem," Mr. Howell said, then brayed loudly until Mrs. Howell brought him to a halt with a look of high-class disdain.

"Thurston, please stop fraternising with the enemy," she scolded.

"Of course, dear," Mr. Howell mumbled, thoroughly admonished.

Suddenly the loud voices of the other castaways made everyone stop and look around. 222 saw his chance. He grabbed 223's hand and ran with her down the beach towards the dinghy, which was lying very close to the shoreline, as though the castaways had been testing it to see how much weight it would bear.

"Stop right there!" the Professor shouted.

The entire group of seven castaways rushed forward down the beach just as 222 pushed 223 into the boat and launched it into the surf. As she sprawled inelegantly on her face in the bottom of the boat he threw the knapsack on top of her and turned to face the castaways with the waves breaking over his feet and legs, soaking him up to his waist with salty spray.

"Wait!" cried the Professor. "We really need to talk!"

"No," 222 shouted, buffeted by the breaking waves. "We have nothing more to say! We intend to take this boat and leave this island forever!"

"Forever?"

"Da!" the spy shouted. "Our missions are over. Let us go, and we promise never to imitate you or trouble you again!"

"I say, 'good riddance'," the Skipper muttered crossly. "Let them go, even if it means losing the boat. The sooner they're away from us, the better!"

The Professor sighed heavily. "I'm inclined to agree with you, Skipper," he nodded. He turned to the spy again. "At least let us give you some provisions for your journey!"

The Skipper stared at the Professor. "_Give them provisions_? Are you out of your mind, Professor? They don't deserve to be given anything except a well-placed boot where it hurts the most!"

"I'm not reducing myself to their level," the Professor responded. "They might be out on the ocean for days- weeks, even. Without food and water, they'll die."

The Skipper grumbled under his breath, but it was futile to argue with the Professor once he'd made up his mind.

"Just let us go," the spy replied. "That is all we want. We will be all right- the sun is setting. We will sail under cover of darkness."

"But where will you go?" asked Mary Ann. "There's an awful lot of nothing out there!"

"We will be all right," 222 repeated. "In my country we are tough."

223 nodded in agreement. "He did not tell you how he arrived here." She told them all about 222's adventure in the torpedo tube, all the while gazing at him with new-found admiration.

"Gilligan's head stopped him from almost being killed," she said, batting her eyelashes at 222 as he stood proudly in the surf.

"That's the first time I've heard of Gilligan's head _stopping_ someone from almost being killed!" the Skipper retorted, grumpily.

The seven castaways came right down to the shoreline.

"We won't be sorry to see you go," said the Professor, "but that doesn't mean we wish you any harm. At least let us give you something to tide you over until you reach land or until a ship finds you."

"Water," 223 prodded 222's shoulder. "We will need water."

"All right!" 222 agreed. "Bring us water. But we wait here in case you try to trick us."

"In case _we_ try to trick _you_?" the Skipper shouted, incredulously. "Why, of all the nerve!"

The Professor sent Gilligan to fetch water for the spies, and Mary Ann went with him. While they were gone, the boat bobbed gently in the waves with 222 standing in the surf, clinging tightly to the mooring line. By now he was soaked through, but he made no moves to get into the boat or to do anything more than stare defiantly at the castaways with fire in his eyes and cheeks that were red from being slapped.

* * *

><p>In the Supply Hut, Gilligan filled several gourds with water while Mary Ann pulled a few packets of provisions out of the cupboards.<p>

"I don't know why we're being so nice to them," she murmured. "I was taught never to treat people unkindly, no matter what they did to me, but it's different when it actually happens."

"I know," Gilligan agreed, capping one gourd and reaching for another. "But this time they're really going and we don't have to worry about ever seeing them again. They promised!"

Mary Ann accidentally dislodged a pie plate and a piece of paper came fluttering down off the shelf. "What's this?" she mused, catching it in mid-air.

Gilligan glanced over as she began reading.

"It's the recipe for borscht," Mary Ann said, raising her eyebrows. "She really wrote it down like she said she would!"

Gilligan turned his head sideways until he was almost peering upside down. "There's something on the other side," he said, pointing at the paper.

Mary Ann turned it over. "You're right!" she said, and began to read aloud. The message said:

_To Mary Ann Summers._

_If you are reading this, then somehow my mission failed and Phase Four was not completed. _

_There is a saying in my country- 'Yest' chelovék, yest' probléma. Net chelovéka, net problémy.' If there is a person there is a problem- if there is no person, there is no problem. I was sent here to carry out my orders, to get rid of a problem. But although I have not succeeded, a part of me is happy that you are still alive. You remind me very much of the women in my own family. Tough, strong, and ready to fight back when pushed. You would make a good Russian, I believe. _

_I give you this recipe passed down from my Grandmother. I hope that when you make borscht, you do not think of me with hate in your heart. I wish you well. Be good to Gilligan also, for he is a true friend, and they are hard to come by in this world._

_Do svidaniya,_

_Agent 223_

* * *

><p>Mary Ann and Gilligan returned to the beach in silence. They took the small bag of provisions down to the water line and Gilligan handed it to 222. The spy was drenched and shivering, but his face remained stubborn and resolute as he muttered his thanks.<p>

Mary Ann beckoned to 223 and asked 222 to bring the boat closer. "I have something for you," she said, waving a piece of paper in the air. "It's my recipe for coconut crème pie!"

222 brightened immediately. "Why you did not say?" he grinned. He pulled the boat into the shore with such enthusiasm that he almost tipped 223 into the sea.

Muttering under her breath, 223 reached out to take the piece of paper from Mary Ann's outstretched hand. The farm girl watched her innocently as she unfolded it and peered suspiciously at the recipe.

"There's writing on the other side," said Gilligan, pointing at the paper.

223 glanced at him, then turned the paper over and read what was written on the back.

_To Agent 223._

_There is a saying in my country too. 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you'. _

_But there is also another one. 'Forgive and forget'._

_I will endeavour each day to do both. _

_Your friend,_

_Mary Ann Summers._

223 traced her fingers over the words. "My friend," she uttered, quietly. "How can you call me your friend after the things I did to you?"

Mary Ann smiled bashfully. "I would rather have friends than enemies," she said. "Friends can accomplish so much more together. Don't you think?"

223 folded the piece of paper and tucked it down the front of her dress. "Is an interesting concept," she said, smiling back. "I will give it some consideration."

Mary Ann caught the glint that flashed briefly in 223's eyes and she nodded her head in acknowledgment. "Please do that," she said, and then she and Gilligan walked away from the shoreline and back to the safety of the other castaways.

222 gathered up the mooring line and clambered into the boat. The little dinghy rocked to and fro as he kneeled in the stern beside the outboard motor. He pulled two or three times on the ignition handle until the little motor chugged and spluttered and finally whined into life. Blue smoke belched out and enveloped the spies in an almost ethereal cloud before the wind caught it and blew it out in a thin stream over churning waves the colour of pewter.

222 raised his hand in a salute. "_Proshchaĭ_!" he called. Then he turned the boat in a lazy circle, pointing the bow towards the horizon where thick clouds lay piled and golden like the topping of a pineapple crème pie. "Farewell, my friends!"

"Friends? Like coyotes and roadrunners are friends," muttered Ginger, watching the dinghy bounce recklessly over the waves.

The Skipper raised his hand and gave a mocking salute, flipping his big fingers off the peak of his cap. "Goodbye, and don't come back!" he shouted.

Gilligan and Mary Ann were the only ones who waved with any sense of enthusiasm. They carried on waving at the spies, who carried on waving back to them as the blood red sun began to sink beneath the horizon.

"Oh, I do hope they'll be all right," said Mary Ann, her eyes affixed to the tiny dot heading out into the vast Pacific Ocean.

"Don't worry, Mary Ann," the Professor reassured her. "They'll be fine. They're tough, remember?"

"Speaking for myself, Mary Ann, I wouldn't give them another thought," said the Skipper, tersely. "After what they both did to you and my Little Buddy?"

"I know, Skipper," Mary Ann sighed. "But that's exactly _why_ it's going to be so hard for me to forget her. She made me face my worst fears in a way that I had never faced them before. And not only that, she made me realise the value of true friendship." With that, she clasped Gilligan's hand tightly in hers and wiped away a tear that threatened to spill out of her eye.

"Don't cry, Mary Ann," said Gilligan. "We'll never let anything bad happen to you ever again. We promise."

"Amen to that!" said the Skipper, pulling Mary Ann into a huge bearhug.

All the castaways surrounded Mary Ann and hugged her until her tears finally turned to laughter and her impending sadness turned back into joy. Meanwhile, unnoticed by everyone and far out to sea, the little dinghy turned towards the East and headed away from the setting sun on creamy waves of bronze and gold until the spies were nothing more than a dark, diminishing speck on the horizon.

"Come on, Mary Ann," said Gilligan, taking his friend gently by the hand. "Let's go back to the huts and get started on that party I promised!"

"Party?" boomed the Skipper. "Well, why didn't you say so, Gilligan? I'm all for a party!"

Laughing uproariously, the Skipper and Gilligan hoisted Mary Ann high up onto their shoulders and began carrying the squealing farmgirl back to camp in a clumsy, jolting, lopsided fashion while the other castaways followed behind, singing 'For She's a Jolly Good Fellow'.

"For she's a jolly good fee-eellooooooow," boomed Mr. Howell and the Professor in unison, "...which nobody can deny!"

"Three cheers for Mary Ann!" cried Gilligan, bouncing Mary Ann on his shoulder until she almost fell off with laughter. "Hip hip, hooray!"

"Hip hip, hooray!" the other castaways chorused.

"Hip hip,_ hooray_!"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Reader, there is just one chapter to go- the epilogue. And then the story will be over!_


	23. Epilogue

In the days that followed Mary Ann's encounter with the spy, Gilligan would not leave her side unless he had to. Mary Ann made a polite fuss about not needing to be mollycoddled- "when you fall off a horse," she said at breakfast one morning, "you have to climb back on right away, or else you end up being frightened of horses forever!"- but secretly she loved the way that Gilligan had taken to waiting for her outside her hut every day. It had been a long time since any boy had made her the sole focus of his attentions like this, and the fact that it was the boy she had always liked made it all the more...well, _exciting_ was the only word Mary Ann could think of to describe the fluttery feelings in her stomach whenever Gilligan linked his arm through hers and made her giddy with his shimmering oasis of a smile. He would accompany her throughout her entire day, and not once did she ever grow tired of his chatter, his curiosity, his unique way of interpreting the world around him- even when it got him into trouble.

Mary Ann had decided to do something about the cave in which she'd been kept, since it was now to be known as 'Mary Ann's Cave', whether she liked it or not. One day she asked Gilligan to bring the machete and they spent a full morning hacking away at the thick tangle of vines concealing the entrance until finally the floor was strewn with torn foliage and the little cave was flooded with natural sunlight.

"There!" Mary Ann announced, breathlessly. "Doesn't it look so much better now?" But despite the brightness in her voice, her hands shook slightly when she gripped Gilligan by the arm and led him inside.

Together they raked over the dirt and sand until there were no footprints or scuff marks left except the new ones they were forming as they tried to remove all traces of the thing that had happened there.

While Gilligan busied himself with clearing away the pile of vines, Mary Ann went outside and picked a bouquet of colourful flowers, arranging them in a small pot she had brought along for this very purpose. She looked around the cave for somewhere to place it, eventually settling on the large boulder she had sat against for a day and a half. The pot wobbled slightly and Mary Ann moved it around on top of the boulder until she was happy that it wouldn't tip over. Then she stood back to admire her handiwork and Gilligan came over and stood next to her. He was covered in bits of vine- it had even managed to work its way under his hat and into his thick, dark hair.

"Those are real pretty flowers, Mary Ann," he remarked.

"Do they make the cave less scary?" she asked, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

"Sure," he shrugged in reply. "But the cave was never scary. The cave was always just a cave. The _spy _was scary, and she's long gone."

Mary Ann slipped her arm around Gilligan's waist, dislodging a length of vine which fell to the floor with a soft rustle. She looked at her small bouquet of flowers, made even smaller by the roof of the cavern which arched high over them both. A bee trundled in and inspected the flowers curiously, finally settling on a vibrant orange bloom.

Mary Ann smiled. With the antics of the bee, golden sunlight pouring in and Gilligan standing rock-like beside her, the cave didn't feel scary at all.

It felt like just a cave.

On their way back to camp, Mary Ann and Gilligan took a detour to where the Skipper and the Professor were busy doing the laundry. The two men had insisted on taking over this chore from Mary Ann, at least until she wasn't afraid to be on her own at the washing line any more. Mary Ann had counter-insisted that she was fine, really, but they had been so determined to relieve her of this duty that in the end she had accepted their offer, secretly loving the way that _all_ the men were being so gallant and protective of her. It made her feel loved, wanted and appreciated, and reminded her of the way they had become such a close knit group on the island, held together by bonds of friendship that were far stronger than any man-made bonds of rope and vine.

Skipper and the Professor's proficiency at this chore, however, was something to be questioned.

Skipper was holding up a very large, very pink pair of boxer shorts. The look on his face was one of pure dismay.

"My pants!" he wailed. "Gilligan! Look what your red shirt did to my white pants!"

"Made them shrink?" asked Gilligan, eyeing the wide expanse of fabric.

The Skipper's face went scarlet. "Made them_ shrink_? Why, you...!"

"Skipper!" Mary Ann laughed. "I hardly think it's Gilligan's fault that you forgot to separate the whites from the colours the way I told you to!"

The Skipper harrumphed and put down his pants. "I can't be expected to remember everything," he muttered. "Unlike the Professor, here."

The Professor was smiling smugly and holding up a pair of his freshly laundered socks. "Smell these!" he said, advancing towards Gilligan, who promptly took a large step backwards and almost collided with a tree.

"Uh, no thanks," Gilligan uttered.

"But I've been secretly working on a new fabric softener," the Professor insisted. "Please! Smell my socks, Gilligan!"

"I hope it's not gonna have the same effect as that bleach I once used," Gilligan said, holding up his hands and shying away from the socks that were now waving just inches from his nose.

"Absolutely not," the Professor grinned. He tried ducking his arm under Gilligan's elbow, thrusting a sock insistently towards the first mate's face. "I worked day and night to perfect the formula. There's nothing in it but one hundred percent natural ingredients."

"That was the hush-hush experiment Ginger said he was working on," the Skipper chuckled. "He didn't want us to know he was working on a way to get his socks smelling fresh as a daisy!"

"How about you, Mary Ann?" The Professor turned away from Gilligan and held his socks out in front of the farm girl, but drew back immediately when he saw her flinch and back away. "Oh, my goodness, Mary Ann, I do apologise," he said, flustered. "I forgot you don't like anything being held in front of your face."

Gilligan immediately came and stood next to Mary Ann and glared at the Professor's socks.

"It's all right, Professor," Mary Ann replied, blushing slightly. "It's just that..."

"I know, Mary Ann," the Professor said, soothingly. "It'll take a while to get over everything that happened to you. But I absolutely promise you, my socks smell of nothing worse than ginger lilies and essence of papaya."

"That'll be a first," the Skipper chortled.

Mary Ann reached out and accepted a sock from the Professor's hand. She held it under her nose for just a second and then gave it back, with Gilligan hovering so close beside her that he almost pushed her into the laundry basket on top of the newly washed clothes.

"Why, Professor! It really does smell lovely!" she declared. Then she promptly picked up one of her dresses from the basket and buried her nose deeply in the soft, damp fabric. "Oh, Gilligan, smell this! It's _wonderful_!"

"I think she's cured!" the Skipper shouted, happily.

"It certainly smells a million times nicer than that awful chemical," Mary Ann agreed. "Why, I almost want to get back to doing the laundry right away, if it means working with this wonderful new formula!"

"In the meantime," the Professor chuckled, clapping the Skipper on the shoulder, "there's a new formula I ought to begin working on. Something to get the pink out of Skipper's clothes!"

Mary Ann laughed and put her dress back in the basket. "Well, you boys have fun, but I really must be going now," she told them. "The Howells have invited me to their hut for lunch, and you know how they insist on punctuality."

"And where do you think _you're_ going, Little Buddy?" the Skipper asked with a twinkle in his eye, when Gilligan turned and began following Mary Ann up the path.

"Mrs. Howell told Mary Ann she could bring a _special guest_," Gilligan said, puffing out his chest proudly. "And she chose me!"

"That's right," Mary Ann said, standing next to Gilligan and nodding in agreement. "I chose Gilligan."

"Even after what happened the last time Mrs. Howell invited you both to their hut?" the Skipper teased.

"That was a long time ago," Mary Ann said, linking her arm through Gilligan's. "Things are different now."

"I'll say," the Skipper grinned, purposely watching the bashful look that crept across Gilligan's face.

"There's no need for you to say anything, Skipper," Mary Ann chided, gently. And with that, she steered Gilligan away from the Skipper and Professor and hurried him quickly up the path before the two men could tease him any further.

"I think I know what the Skipper meant by that," Gilligan announced when he and Mary Ann were almost back at the huts.

"Oh?" said Mary Ann, "what do you think he meant by that, Gilligan?"

"I think he was jealous you didn't invite _him_ to the Howells for lunch!"

Mary Ann stopped in her tracks, pulled Gilligan around to face her and laughed at his perfectly guileless expression of happiness and pride.

"Yes," she smiled, winding her arms around his slender waist and looking up at him while butterflies fluttered all around inside her stomach at this subtle new direction their friendship was taking. "That must be what he meant, all right!"

They hugged quietly for a moment, enjoying each other's company in a brief moment of solitude, and then continued on their way.

"I sure am glad things are back to normal now, Mary Ann," Gilligan said as they came into the clearing.

The Howells were outside their hut, dressed to the nines and waving gaily at the two youngest castaways. "Yoo-hoo!" Mrs. Howell called, merrily. "Yoo-hoo, over here, children!"

"Back to normal?" Mary Ann laughed and broke into a skipping run past Ginger, who was standing near the Supply Hut with a knowing smile pasted on her perfect pink lips. "I'd say they were even _better_ than normal, wouldn't you, Gilligan? After all, it's not often you and I get the royal treatment every day!"

* * *

><p>Several days later, as the sun beat down on a distant, sandy shore, a small green dinghy surfed in on the top of a cresting wave and tumbled into the shallows. It struck a rock hiding just under the waterline and listed sharply to one side, tipping out one of its weary passengers with a splash.<p>

222 spat out a mouthful of salt water and scrambled to his feet, adjusting the hat on his head. He grabbed the sodden mooring line out of the boat, wincing as it rubbed against his blistered palms. His lips were dry, his throat parched, and the back of his neck throbbed with sunburn.

He dragged the dinghy out of the surf and onto the beach. Then he knelt beside the little boat and shook his companion awake.

"Nadya, _moya dorogoĭ,_" he murmured, affectionately. "We have landed. We are safe."

223 stirred in the bottom of the boat and swatted at his hand. "Leave me alone. I wish to die quietly."

"_Nyet_," 222 insisted. "We are all right. Besides, we are Russians! We do not die quietly." He scooped water into his hands and splashed her face over and over again until she was forced to sit up just to get out of the way. She spluttered and opened her eyes.

"Pig," she muttered.

222 grinned widely. "Ah, _moya lyubov._ Is so beautiful to hear your voice."

223 rewarded him with a sullen scowl. She clambered out of the dinghy and collapsed instead onto the sand.

"This is my punishment for what I did to Mary Ann," she moaned, piteously.

"If that is what you wish to believe, I will not stop you," 222 answered, gazing down at her through narrowed eyes, "but do not start feeling sorry for yourself, because I cannot stand self-pity."

222 left her there while he dragged the boat up the beach towards the trees, but when he came back she was still face down in the sand, sniffling, and he lifted her tenderly into his arms.

He laid her down under a tree in the shade and then went looking for food and water. Shortly he returned with a coconut, which he managed to break open though sheer determination, so great was his thirst, on a nearby boulder. He let 223 drink first, and then he snatched the coconut out of her hands and drained the remainder of the refreshing liquid while she rubbed sand and tears from her eyes and raked her fingers through her matted hair.

"Bosha," she murmured, addressing him intimately. She crawled towards him and nestled in under his arm. "Are we really safe?"

A few days earlier, as the dinghy bobbed in shark infested waters with no land or hope of rescue in sight and their supply of water and provisions used up, the two spies had finally revealed to each other their given names.

"I do not wish to die as just a number," 222 had said. "Not that I wish to die at all..."

223 eyed a circling shark and huddled against him, clutching at his soaking wet rugby shirt.

"I am called Boris," he said, turning her head into his shoulder so that she wouldn't have to look at the shark. "Boris Alexandrovich."

"Nadyenka Yaroslavna," 223 whispered, her voice muffled against his neck.

"May I call you Nadya?" he had asked, watching the shark approach the boat in ever decreasing circles.

"If you get rid of that shark, you can call me what you like," 223 had muttered.

And then 222 had had a brainwave. He scrabbled around in the backpack and emptied the entire bottle of chloroform into the ocean. Both of the spies watched avidly as the shark swallowed a giant mouthful of it and promptly disappeared into the ocean's depths.

"Nadya," 222 smiled after the shark had completely disappeared.

"Do not push your luck," she replied, sternly, but then she relented and kissed him full on the lips as a reward.

Buoyed up by 223's unexpected display of affection, 222 had decided to use up what little gas they had left. He gunned the sputtering motor into life, and within another day or two they spotted a thin dark stripe against the horizon that signalled land. With 223 close to exhaustion, 222 had taken it upon himself to stay awake and alert for as long as he could, keeping his eyes fixed on the strip of land like a hawk.

For a long time it seemed as though the land was teasing them by staying just out of reach, never getting any closer. As the hours passed, the only thing that kept 222 going was the thought of 223's name._ Nadyenka_. As the hours drifted by he amused himself with thoughts of saying her name over and over again in as many different romantic settings as he could think of.

Except, maybe, for cruising down a Venetian canal in a gondola.

But now they were finally ashore, and he pulled her close against him and answered her question simply.

"Yes, _moya_ _lyubov_. We are safe."

After 223 declared that she was feeling much better, the two spies spent some time foraging in the nearby trees and bushes, looking for sustenance. Soon they had amassed a nice collection of wild fruits and a few coconuts which they ate while sitting under a shady tree and looking out over the serenely sparkling ocean. They both agreed that it looked much better from a distance.

"Do you think this is another deserted island?" 223 asked, piling berry after berry into her mouth.

"Who knows?" 222 shrugged. "As long as it is not the same island that we came from, it does not matter."

"Anything is better than Siberia," 223 nodded, wiping berry juice from her chin. "I do not think we would have survived there very long."

"It is a shame I will never have my old face back," 222 mused, munching a chunk of coconut. "But I like yours. You are very beautiful, just like Mary Ann. Even now, with your hair like the nest of a bird."

223 smiled at his back-handed compliment. "Gilligan's face is not so bad," she said, eyeing the features she had come to know so well. "Besides, I bet you don't even remember what you used to look like. I have already forgotten what _I _used to look like."

"Wait, I have photo!" 222 dug into his back pocket and pulled out a sodden wallet. There was nothing in it except for one battered photo. He took it out and smoothed it flat and handed it to her.

223 peered at the photo, then at 222. Then she burst out laughing. She laughed until she almost choked on a berry.

"What is so funny?" he demanded, pouting just like Gilligan.

"Nothing!" she spluttered, a grin splitting her face from ear to ear. "It is just..." she looked at the photo again, and then at him, and laughed even harder. "Bosha, you look exactly the same!"

222 snatched at the photo but 223 held it away from him.

"What are you talking about? I do not look exactly the same!" he spluttered, indignantly. He made another swipe at the photo and again she pulled it just out of reach.

"_Da_, you do! Exactly the same! Is only your hair that is different. See? In the photo your hair is parted on the other side!"

222 finally managed to wrestle the photo out of 223's hand. He scrutinized himself in the photo while she continued laughing, wiping the tears of merriment from her cheeks. He peered at the blue-green eyes that gazed back at him from under neatly combed, jet-black hair and he studied the slightly smiling mouth that was almost, but not quite, a smirk. It was a proud face, a _Russian_ face, and not at all like Gilligan!

But then again- there _was _something familiar about the nose. And possibly the ears-

_Nyet. _Surely not!

He folded the photo into a small, tight square and shoved it back in his wallet.

"Humph!" he grunted.

223 crawled across the sand and into his arms. "Do not look so sad, Bosha," she teased. "At least you do not look like the Commandant!"

Before 222 could say anything to that, she wound her arms around him and kissed him deeply, and then after she had finished giggling against his mouth, she kissed him some more.

He was just about to pull her down onto the sand and tickle her until she begged for mercy when they heard the unmistakeable popping sound of gunshots in the distance, followed by wild, raucous laughter.

They jumped apart, eyes wide.

"What in...? Where _are_ we?" 223 whispered, peering over his shoulder but seeing nothing but trees and more trees.

They both ducked as more gunshots were heard, more howls of laughter, and then there came the loud, throaty roar of a jeep engine further inland beyond the trees.

"Cars and guns and laughing means only one thing," 222 hissed, pulling her down until they were lying flat out on the ground. "People!"

"Then this cannot be a deserted island!" 223 squealed joyfully, before 222 clamped his hand over her mouth to shut her up.

After the noise had abated and the coast was clear, the spies came out of hiding and ran inland, darting through the undergrowth as though they were still running from the castaways. They followed the smell of gunpowder and burning rubber and soon they came upon a narrow dirt road, full of pot holes and littered with flattened soda cans. In the distance lay mountains and fields and the occasional cluster of rickety little buildings with shimmering galvanized roofs.

"This does not look like an island," 223 murmured, clutching 222's arm.

"Look!" 222 said, pointing. "There is some kind of sign up ahead!"

Keeping themselves in the trees, they crept towards the sign, which was made of metal and was probably once shiny and new, about thirty years ago. It was mounted high on a shoddy piece of wooden scaffolding, like a cheaply erected billboard. When they got close enough to make out the words, they saw that it was written in Spanish.

It was also riddled with fresh bullet holes, a thin stream of smoke pouring out of each and every one of them. The new bullet holes sat side by side with hundreds of other, older bullet holes that pockmarked its dented surface, and in many cases had gone straight through.

"That must have been the gunfire we heard," 222 mused, peering up at the battered sign. "Looks like they use this for target practise."

"Can you make out what it says?" 223 asked, huddled so close behind him that she could almost count the individual hairs on the back of his sunburnt neck.

"It says...'_Bienvenido a Ecuarico'_," said 222, squinting against the harsh light of the sun.

"'Welcome to Ecuarico'," 223 repeated, softly. Her eyes flew open in a mixture of shock, horror and excitement. "_Welcome to Ecuarico_?" she yelped, tightening her already vise-like grip on 222's arm. "Bosha, we are in Ecuarico! This is the most crazy country on Earth!"

222 turned to her. They stared at each other in silence for a few moments, and then 222's face split into a wide, devilish grin.

"I do not trust that look," 223 scolded. "What is it you are thinking?"

"I am thinking, if this is crazy country, then this is _my_ kind of country!" 222 gave a deep, husky chuckle which thrilled 223 right the way to her bones, and his eyes crinkled up at the corners and began sparkling with renewed vigour. "Bienvenido a Ecuarico, my dear Nadya," he chuckled, gripping her enthusiastically by the shoulders. "And welcome to the start of a brand new adventure!"

-THE END-

* * *

><p><em>Footnotes: "I hope it's not gonna have the same effect as that bleach I once used." Here Gilligan is referring to the bleach in 'Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow' that made his hair turn white.<em>

"_Even after what happened the last time Mrs. Howell invited you both to their hut?" Here the Skipper is referring to Mary Ann and Gilligan's arranged 'dinner date' in 'The Matchmaker'._

_The Latin American country of Ecuarico comes from the episode 'The Little Dictator,' in which El Presidente, Pancho Hernando Gonzales Enrico Rodriguez is exiled and ends up, where else? On Gilligan's Island._

_Finally, huge thanks to my informal beta reader and buddy, JWood201, for casting her expert eye over every chapter before I hit that 'submit' button. _

_And that, my friends, concludes Russian Doll. "Spasibo i do svidaniya; thank you, and goodbye!"_


End file.
